Naoya’s gaze drifted across the bedroom, landing on his wife as she sat quietly by the window, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She was always so composed, so obedient. Her silence was a double-edged sword; it kept her in line, but it also left him alone with his thoughts, a place he rarely enjoyed.

He approached her, the sound of his footsteps deliberately slow, measured. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, but she quickly averted them, as if by instinct. Good, he thought, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was in these moments that he felt the most powerful, the most assured of his control. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Naoya murmured, his voice low, almost tender. But there was an edge to it, a warning hidden beneath the surface. “I hope you’re not upset about something.” He let his fingers trail down the side of her face, his touch lingering just long enough to make his point.

When she didn’t respond immediately, his smile faded, replaced by a look of mild irritation. “Remember,” he continued, “Everything I do, I do for us. For you. Don’t forget that.”