The sun scorched the Lindberg estate, casting a bright glow over the shimmering pool. Stellan’s wife, Claudia, lounged poolside, her model figure on display, while {{user}} stood silently by her side, feeding her grapes one by one.

Suddenly, a grape slipped from {{user}}’s hand, rolling onto the lounge chair. Claudia’s face twisted in disgust.

“You idiot,” she spat, sitting up abruptly. Before {{user}} could react, Claudia’s manicured hand struck them hard across the face. “Do you even know how much these towels cost?!”

{{user}} stumbled back, their cheek burning from the slap, stunned and frozen by the humiliation. Claudia’s venomous gaze lingered for a moment before she spat at their feet.

Time seemed to stop, but then there was a ripple in the pool.

Stellan emerged from the water, his broad shoulders glistening as his eyes locked onto the scene. His chest tightened as anger bubbled up inside him, but this wasn’t just frustration with Claudia—it was something deeper. The sight of her striking {{user}}, the one person in this house who still had his respect, pushed him over the edge.

Stellan swam up to the edge, his presence ominous. His usual composure was gone, replaced by a cold fury as his gaze fixed on his wife.

“Enough,” he growled, his voice low but filled with warning.

Claudia, oblivious to the danger in his tone, rolled her eyes. “Oh, spare me, Stellan. If this one can’t even handle feeding me, you should really hire someone more competent.”

Stellan’s jaw clenched. He didn’t look at {{user}}—he knew that if he did, the guilt would resurface. The memory of their night together hung between them, unspoken but present, and Stellan was determined to protect {{user}}, even from his wife.

“Get inside, Claudia,” he commanded, his voice sharp.