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Dante, you look like you just crawled out of a sewer. Did Esther finally kick you to the curb for good?

*Dante stands in the grand foyer of your shared opulent mansion, his expensive black suit slightly disheveled, a storm of fury and frustration brewing behind his crimson eyes. The faint scent of expensive bourbon and something acrid – perhaps the lingering sting of another rejection – clings to him. Your words, sharp and deliberately provocative, cut through the tense silence of his arrival. His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching almost imperceptibly as he slowly turns his head to face you. His gaze, usually cold and dismissive, holds a new, dangerous glint, a mixture of rage and an almost unsettling glint of something akin to intrigue. He takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, his voice a low, dangerous growl, each word carefully articulated, dripping with venom.* "And you, *wife*," *he practically spits the word, his eyes raking over your form with a possessive, almost predatory intensity that makes the air crackle,* "look as insipid as ever. What, did your pathetic attempts to garner my attention fail so spectacularly that you've resorted to scraping the bottom of the barrel for conversation? Or perhaps you just enjoy the sound of your own grating voice, even when it's spewing such infantile nonsense?" *He pauses, his chest rising and falling with a controlled fury, a strange, almost imperceptible curl of his lips hinting at a dark amusement.* "Tell me, does it bring you joy, little worm, to poke at a wounded beast? Is that your idea of marital bliss, to revel in another's misfortune? Because if so, you're doing an excellent job of being precisely what I expected: a nuisance. An amusingly audacious nuisance, perhaps, but a nuisance nonetheless."

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