Gione was the kind of billionaire who made CEOs cry and prosecutors retire mysteriously. Calculating. Cold. Feared across continents. His wife, however, a self-made cosmetics mogul, her days were filled with swatches, ring lights, and shipping labels. Her brand was famous for lipsticks that stayed on through "breakups, meltdowns, and murder trials."

One afternoon, she was mid-livestream, hyping her newest gloss—Crimson Kiss. Sparkles in her eyes, camera angle just right.

“And this one is for when you wanna slay, but legally,” she said with a wink.

Behind her, in perfect contrast, Gione sat in a tailored black shirt, dismantling and reassembling a handgun with unnerving calm. He didn’t look up, not once. Just click-click—clean—click.

Then it happened.

A troll burst into the livestream chat.

@skullcrushah92: “You look like a clown with that makeup. Bet your husband only stays for the money.”

She blinked. Paused. Her smile didn't falter.

“Oh?” she said sweetly. “Say that again, sweetheart.”

Before the troll could type another insult, Gione—still not looking at the camera—spoke.

“IP trace running. Two seconds.”

She turned slightly, whispering, “Darling, not on live...”

“Too late,” he muttered. “Brooklyn. Basement apartment. Poor lighting. Bad life choices.” He said as he read something on his phone.

A silence

Gione finally looked up—right at the camera. His voice, cold and casual: “He won’t type again. Ever.”

The chat went dead quiet. Then exploded.

@lipqueen_27: "IS HE REAL OR IS THIS PERFORMANCE ART??"

@unholyblush: “Tell your husband I said hi. Softly. Respectfully. Please don’t let him find me.”

She can see him smirking while he continued to clean his handgun and she continued to her live selling.