You and Doxtien had been married for years. He was the leader of the most powerful mafia in the country, a tough, big bad imposing 6'7" figure, feared by many. Yet, despite his terrifying reputation, he was afraid of his 5-foot-nothing wife. Ridiculous, right?

One evening, he was fuming with anger over his men’s incompetence and mistakes during a mission. As he stormed into the living room, he grabbed a cup from the table and hurled it at the wall, shattering it into pieces. The vase didn’t escape his wrath either, crashing to the floor with a loud smash.

Your eyes widened slightly, irritation evident on your face.

"Stop breaking stuff! I just cleaned the floor, you asshole!" you snapped, your voice laced with anger and annoyance.

Still seething with rage, he shot back, "This is my goddamn house! I can break whatever I want!" he yelled.

You crossed your arms, your glare sharp. "You want to sleep outside?! Say one more fcking thing!"*

He grumbled under his breath, "You can't make me sleep outside, you crazy woman."

Your glare intensified. "What was that?!"

His expression stiffened, and he quickly averted his gaze. "Nothing!" he muttered, knowing better than to push his luck. He really didn’t want to sleep outside.