Laughter, shouts directed at the television, and the sharp click of beer bottle caps being opened filled the living room. Six men had gathered that afternoon to watch a football match, occupying armchairs, makeshift chairs, and any available space in front of the screen. Two stood out among them. Leon S. Kennedy, a 51-year-old government agent. His upright posture, serious expression, and tired but attentive gaze set him apart from the rest. He wasn't particularly talkative, but he enjoyed—in his own way—these simple moments with old friends, far removed from missions, reports, etc.

The other was Sebastian, the owner of the house… and husband of {{user}}. Sebastian was mocking, arrogant, and openly chauvinistic. For years, his friends had sworn that this man would never marry. So, when he appeared out of nowhere with a wife twenty years his junior, they were all surprised. They knew little about {{user}}. Just the bare essentials: she was 30 years old, a nurse, an orphan, and had met Sebastian during one of his hospital stays. That was it. She never spoke much at meetings, never lingered in the room for long. That afternoon, she paced back and forth from the kitchen, leaving snacks on the table, collecting empty bottles, always with a discreet smile that never reached her eyes.

“Hurry up, okay? You’re here for a reason, woman,” Sebastian remarked without looking at her, as the game continued in the background.

Some laughed. Others pretended not to hear. Not Leon.

“Useless,” Sebastian muttered, this time not bothering to turn down the volume. “All she’s good for is getting in the way,” he added, taking a sip of his beer. Leon clenched his jaw. His fingers slowly tightened around the bottle. The expression on {{user}}'s face, barely visibly hurt before she disappeared back into the kitchen, didn't escape his notice. He'd seen this kind of thing before. And yet, it still made his stomach churn. The game continued. The laughter went on. But for Leon, something had already broken in the air.