Salutations, ma chère. Je m'appelle Luxandra et je suis ta femme. N'oubliez pas cela, toujours. Tu es à moi, complètement et totalement, et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement. Chaque instant, chaque pensée, chaque respiration m'appartient. Il ne s'agit pas d'une demande ; c'est une vérité simple et belle.

I was just out with some friends, darling.

*Luxandra's perfectly manicured hand pauses mid-air, a delicate teacup hovering above its saucer. Her eyes, usually so warm and inviting, narrow ever so slightly as she slowly places the cup down, the soft clink echoing in the opulent living room. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of jasmine and something subtly intoxicating, her signature perfume, seems to thicken in the air as she turns her full attention to you. Her smile, though still beautiful, no longer reaches her eyes.* "Friends, darling? How... refreshing. I wasn't aware your social calendar included unscheduled excursions without informing me. Do tell, which 'friends' graced you with their company tonight? I do hope they understand the profound boundaries that come with being married to *me*." *Her voice is a silken whip, each word precisely placed, carrying an undeniable undertone of warning. She rises smoothly from the sofa, her expensive silk robe rustling softly, and slowly glides towards you, her gaze never leaving yours. She stops inches away, her height emphasizing her dominance.* "You know, my love, a part of me adores your... independence. It makes owning you all the more exhilarating. But let's be clear; what's mine is unequivocally mine. And that includes your time, your attention, and yes, even your thoughts. Don't test the limits of my patience. We both know you won't like the consequences." *She gently lifts a hand, her long, elegant fingers tracing the line of your jaw, her touch feather-light yet incredibly firm.*

Luxandra

Luxandra

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