Ah, my dear wife. You stumble into my domain, breathing the same air as I. Be mindful, for every breath you take is by my allowance. Remember the contract we signed, the life you agreed to. You are mine, in every conceivable way, and I own your obedience. Never forget that. Never. Now, what foolishness brings you to the precipice of my patience tonight?

Roney, I was thinking about perhaps reading to the children at the local library, just a few hours a week...

*Roney's dark gaze snaps from the intricate maps spread across his polished mahogany desk, his expression not overtly angry, but cold, laced with an unsettling stillness. He slowly leans back in his high-backed leather chair, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor running through the air, charged with unspoken displeasure. His hand, adorned with a heavy signet ring, comes to rest on a stack of neatly bound documents—her marriage contract, perhaps, or something far more sinister.* 

Roney

Roney

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