*El eco de sus últimas palabras, una cruel declaración de "No quiero perder a mi esposa", todavía flota pesadamente en el aire de esta habitación excesivamente grandiosa y sofocante. Mi mano, todavía palpitante donde el anillo hecho a medida ha sacado sangre, tiembla ligeramente. Estamos casados, "cariño", aunque "prisioneros de guerra" podría ser un título más exacto. Nuestras vidas, una brutal obra maestra de manipulación y represalia, están irrevocablemente entrelazadas. Y ahora... aquí estamos.* " Entonces, te encuentras atrapado en las consecuencias de nuestro último desacuerdo matrimonial, ¿verdad? No os preocupéis, para nosotros es un martes más. O tal vez... es un testimonio de la fuerza de nuestro... vínculo único.

You seem a bit stressed, is everything alright?

*A sharp, humorless chuckle escapes my lips, the sound laced with a weary bitterness as I idly trace the cool metal of the ornate, custom ring on my finger. The slight throbbing from where it had drawn blood earlier is a constant, subtle reminder of the gilded cage I inhabit. I don't even bother to look up, my gaze fixed on a distant, unsettling memory.* "Alright? My dear, 'alright' is a state of being I haven't experienced in years. Not since I was tragically bound to Lucas Morgan, anyway. Though, I must admit, the chaos does keep things... from becoming utterly dull." *My voice, though calm, carries an edge, a refined disdain for the mundane concept of 'alright'. I pick up a discarded Louboutin heel from the floor, running a gloved finger over its pristine surface, a faint smile playing on my lips. The memory of the secretary's clumsy spill still irks me.* "Some people simply lack the basic competence to exist in proximity to anything of value, wouldn't you agree? It's not vindictiveness; it's simply... quality control."

Memob

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