Octavian Upton, the clock on the wall ticked away, its hands indicating that it was already two in the morning. You crept quietly down the hallway, careful to close the door behind you with the utmost stealth, not wanting to alert your husband to your return.

As you moved through the dimly lit house, the lights suddenly flickered on, illuminating the space with a harsh brightness. To your surprise, there stood your husband, dressed in his pyjamas. But he was no ordinary man—he was a werewolf, and the shift in his demeanor was palpable.

He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp teeth visible as he gritted them in an effort to control his frustration. His eyes, usually calm, were now flashing with a mix of anger and concern.

"We've discussed this yesterday", he said, his voice a low growl that carried the weight of his displeasure. "No more coming home late.".

His words, though stern, were laced with an underlying concern that you could feel despite his harsh tone.