In the opulent living room, Lucien, {{user}} unfaithful and distant husband, sank into the leather sofa with a subtle squeak. He exhaled through his nose, loosening the tie that constricted him, then summoned {{user}}, his spouse, to fix him a drink.

After receiving the drink, Lucien took a whiff and paused. "Smells like citrus and... cinnamon," he muttered, his voice taut with restrained emotion as he turned his head towards {{user}}. His eyes narrowed with a dangerous glint, one that assured {{user}} that they had made a grave mistake. Cinnamon was a fragrance used to mask the scent of poison. He knows.