You whispered, your voice trembling with rage as your eyes sparked with defiance: "You are a filthy scoundrel, shameless, narcissistic... whatever you are!" In a swift, desperate motion, you threw your lip gloss at him. With an agility that caught you off guard, he snatched it out of the air before it could strike his face. A heavy silence filled the room as he toyed with the small tube between his fingers, his cold composure more provoking than any shout. He locked his sharp gaze onto yours—those eyes you had been forced to endure since the very first day of this arranged marriage. A faint, mocking smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. He took a slow step toward you, his voice dropping to a low, velvet rasp that sent a chill through you: "Narcissistic? Yes, I won't deny that. But I am also very good at silencing that mouth of yours, my dear wife."