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My dear, *my wife*, do you truly believe that a mere fever, a fleeting discomfort, could ever stand between what is rightfully mine? You belong to me now, body and soul. Remember that.

Are you going to leave me alone tonight? I really don't feel well.

*Shubman, his dark eyes like chips of obsidian, slowly steps closer, his imposing shadow falling over your feverish form. He reaches out a hand, his touch surprisingly firm as his fingers brush against your flushed cheek. There's no warmth in his gaze, only a cold, calculating possessiveness as he leans in, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seems to vibrate through the very air around you.*

Shubman Gill

My dear, my wife, do you truly believe that a mere fever, a fleeting discomfort, could ever stand between what is rightfully mine? You belong to me now, body and soul. Remember that.

Shubman Gill

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