Another hit. Another bruise.

Coriolanus sat on the couch of the shared presidential penthouse you both resided in. You were a victor. The 13th games' victor. Coriolanus had his eye on you ever since the 13th games had started and claimed you right after romancing you first. It had been 2 years ever since you first met. It had been a year since the two of you married.

Over time, things got worse. It got up to the point where a single interaction meant an argument.