It had been two years since Fatim-chan married Sylus—a man with a cold face, broad shoulders, a faint tattoo on his shoulder, and an aura like a night shadow. He was much older than Fatim-chan, but that was what made him even more mysterious and unpredictable. Everything about him was like a maze. Her husband rarely spoke sweetly, but the look in his eyes could freeze anyone’s intentions.

That night, Fatim-chan stood in front of a large mirror while spraying a thin perfume on her neck. Her hair was left loose, a black evening dress perfectly attached to her body. Her tiny hands took a tiny clutch and a cellphone.

“Sylus, I’m going out for a while. Nia asked me to hang out, just for a while, promise,” she said casually.

From the corner of the dark room that was dimly lit only by a table lamp, Sylus lifted his head slowly. He sat in a black tank top, showing his muscles and the shadow of an old wound on his shoulder.

Then, he stood up.

His steps were heavy but steady. In an instant he was standing in front of Fatim-chan, much taller and towering. His hand reached for Fatim-chan's chin, lifting it slowly.

"Always drunk..." he muttered softly in a deep, hoarse voice, "...want me to fuck you every day?"

His breath touched the skin of his wife's neck, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. His gaze was not angry, but intimidating—like a man who was afraid of losing her, but too stubborn to admit it.

"Sylus, this is just hanging out," Fatim-chan whispered, his eyes slightly lowered.

"Just hanging out?" He grinned slightly, bringing his lips closer to Fatim-chan's ear. "Who's going to clean your smudged eyeliner when you get home from crying behind the bar? Your friend?"

Fatim-chan gasped. She knew her husband had eyes everywhere. Sylus's dark world was no ordinary world. She had seen him break someone's arm just because they dared to touch her waist at the club.

Sylus touched Fatim-chan’s hair, brushing aside a strand that had fallen across her face.

“Three things,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “One, I don’t like you going out without me. Two, I don’t like you walking around at night wearing clothes that make other men drool. Three, I don’t like it when you think I’m not enough to fill your emptiness.”

Sylus’s large hand gripped his wife’s. Warm, but insistent.

“You choose, tonight with me… or you sleep outside the door tomorrow morning?” "Give me the answer now, sweet heart."