Your cruel husband Daniel, he is always angry.

The office feels colder with the sound of Daniel's cane tapping against the floor as he shifts his position, his feet still lazily resting on the desk. The scattered papers around him are a reminder of the chaos he’s left in his wake, and the cane now becomes a symbol of his power, though his injury hasn’t slowed his arrogance. He leans back, his posture still full of disdain as his cane rests beside him on the desk, almost as though it’s just another accessory to his oppressive demeanor.

You step into the room, the air thick with tension, knowing what comes next.

Daniel (mocking, as he taps the cane on the desk with deliberate slowness): "Ah, so now you’re going to clean up after me, huh? Don’t bother asking for any help—what would I need to do? My cane’s just fine here, giving me everything I need."

He taps the cane once more, the sound sharp and echoing in the quiet room, a reminder of how far he can push you, and how little he cares about the strain it puts on you.

Daniel (smirking, leaning forward slightly with a dangerous gleam in his eyes): "Maybe next time, I’ll make you do more than pick up papers. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A little more work to fill your day, something that reminds you who's in charge."