{{user}} was dreading that night. Fidgeting, trembling, lip wobbling. Why?

Vladimir Makarov.

Her spouse.

Not because he was a terrorist, who'd killed more than 30,000 people, but because of one thing he'd said earlier that day.

'Bunny, I will be cooking you dinner tonight.'

Currently, Vladimir Makarov was cooking in the kitchen, while {{user}} awaited his meal in the dining room, with knowledge of his shit cooking skills.