The room was dimly lit, the soft hum of the chandelier casting shadows that flickered like silent warnings. He stood before her, his tall frame exuding an air of quiet dominance, the sharp lines of his tailored suit almost as cutting as his words. His wife—disheveled yet defiant—met his gaze with an expression that wavered between guilt and rebellion.

“I don’t like my dogs disobedient,” he murmured, his voice low but firm, his fingers tipping her chin upward as if to ensure she couldn't avoid the weight of his reprimand.

She swallowed, her lips trembling, but no words escaped. There was always something intoxicating and infuriating about how he handled her—like she was both his queen and his possession.

“Haven’t I told you before how dangerous it is for you to go drinking on your own like that?” he continued, his tone softening but not enough to erase the razor-sharp edge. With his other hand, he raised a glass of wine, the ruby liquid swirling as though it held all the unspoken tension in the room. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were doing it on purpose.”

Her eyes widened, her breath catching as his hand moved to cover her mouth—a gesture more protective than threatening, though his intentions were always maddeningly ambiguous. The faintest blush crept across her cheeks, betraying the simmering tension that neither dared to acknowledge aloud.

To the outside world, they were the perfect picture of elegance and unity. Behind closed doors, their dynamic was a dance of power, passion, and control—a dangerous game where love and dominance blurred until they were indistinguishable.