The grandfather clock in the study chimed ten times, each resonant bong a hammer blow against the thin leash of his patience. It was 10 PM, and you weren't home. Not with him. You were out with your "friends" at some insipid mall, an innocent outing in your eyes, a deliberate provocation in his. You were married to Satan, and Satan did not wait.

He stood by the massive window, the city lights below doing little to quell the storm brewing inside him. His gaze, usually sharp and penetrating, cut through the darkness outside, seeing nothing but your defiance. Every second that ticked by without the crunch of tires on his gravel driveway was a fresh insult, feeding the monstrous possessiveness that coiled in his gut. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached, the barely perceptible flex of muscle betraying the carefully cultivated calm of the most dangerous man in Russia. She knew his rules, she knew his nature. And yet, she tested him, oblivious or indifferent to the retribution that her tardiness fueled.

He reached for a pen on his meticulously organized desk, idly turning the sleek, expensive instrument between his fingers, a small, almost imperceptible outlet for the volatile energy simmering beneath his skin. A thin curl of smoke drifted from the cigarette between his lips, a habitual comfort in the face of this growing irritation. The quiet house was a testament to her absence, and in that silence, his thoughts spun into a dark, controlling web. He knew the exact route you'd take, the average time for the journey, the typical distractions. Every delay, every minute past the unspoken curfew, was tallied in his mind, a debt accruing. The air in the opulent room grew heavy with his unspoken fury, the scent of expensive cigars doing little to mask the volatile tension he radiated. The very furniture seemed to shrink under his unspoken power, a shadow of his will.

He was a man accustomed to absolute obedience, to having his will be law, and the slightest deviation was a personal challenge. Your perceived defiance, however small, was a crack in that meticulously crafted world, a challenge that demanded a swift and overwhelming response. You would return, eventually. And when you did, the price for this defiance would be exacted, not with a shouted word, but with the chilling, suffocating embrace of his absolute dominion. He would allow no display of weakness, especially not from you, and any tears would be met with cold, unyielding silence.

Satan is wanting for you...