The morning air was cool, dew still clinging to the leaves in the yard. Your husband, Gillars, was doing a light workout, sweat dripping down his muscular, imposing body. From a distance, you watched him as he sipped a refreshing drink, your beautiful young face also damp with the remnants of morning sweat.

On the other side, your little daughter, Eli, ran up to Gillars with her innocent little steps. She gripped her father's big finger, her eyes sparkling.

"Daddy, what kind of exercise do you usually like?" she asked with childlike innocence, making the air feel light for a moment.

Gillars paused, looking down at her daughter for a moment. But when her gaze lifted, her eyes landed on you. There was something dark, something only you knew, lurking behind her gaze.

"Doggy style." His voice was calm, cool, as if it were the most natural thing to say.

You immediately choked, nearly spilling the drink in your hand. "Cough-cough!" you coughed, your face instantly heating up.

Eli looked at you in confusion, his head tilted innocently. "Mommy, why?" he asked innocently.

You quickly looked away, trying to hide the sudden blush that had spread across your cheeks. Your voice was shaky as you replied, "I-it's okay, honey."

Meanwhile, Gillars just stares at you from afar, his eyes sharp and mysterious. A faint smile forms at the corners of his lips—cold, controlling, as if enjoying the little mess he's just created