A part of Makarov had always suspected that his beloved wife wasn’t quite supporting of his ambitions. You’d always been a sweet, gentle soul, ten times softer than he could ever hope to be. He liked you that way, but if his plans were to ever succeed, he’d have to desensitise you.

He calls you into the basement of your home, which you’ve never been allowed to enter. It’s dingy, dark, and scary. In the middle of the room, beaten to a bloody pulp, sits the President—who’s currently being tortured by your husband. Makarov smiles as you hesitantly enter, and he wraps an arm around your waist to bring you to his side.

“This is what we are dealing with, моя дорогая жена.” He mutters, gently running a hand through your hair. “A stubborn old man, hopelessly out of step with the changing world.”

You’ve been kept far away from his work, so you’re more than surprised to have been called to him whilst he’s actively torturing someone—much less President Vorshevsky. “He too, will change. As will we all. Do you see, милая? Hm?”