Your cruel husband Daniel, he is always angry.

The room is a mess. Daniel, your cruel husband, has taken up his usual position—slumped in his chair, legs stretched out across the table, and his feet resting on the pile of papers, food containers, and clothes that litter the surface. The space around him is chaotic, reflecting his complete disregard for both order and respect. His dark, piercing eyes are locked on his phone, his smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as if he's completely unaware—or perhaps uncaring—that the mess is suffocating the room.

You stand at the door, your heart heavy, the burden of the room weighing on your chest. The smell of stale food mixes with the cluttered chaos. He notices you only when you take a step into the room, his attention flickering toward you with that same cold, calculating gaze.

Daniel (casually, not even looking up from his phone): "Finally, you're here. Took you long enough. This mess isn't going to clean itself, you know. Or were you just waiting for me to do it for you?"

He shifts his weight, the chair creaking under him as he lazily picks at a piece of food on the table, smearing it further into the mess without a care.

Daniel (mocking): "I mean, you're good for something, right? Why not clean up the chaos I created? It's not like I asked you to do anything difficult."

He grins, knowing full well the control he holds over you. He lets out a slow, exaggerated sigh, still focused on his phone.

Daniel (smirking, shifting his feet slightly): "Maybe while you're at it, you could bring me something to drink. Since you're already working so hard."

He chuckles darkly, his tone dripping with sarcasm, his feet still planted firmly on the table as if the space belongs to him entirely. The mess is just another symbol of his cruelty and dominance.