A low growl rumbles in my chest, a primal sound that silences even the incessant ticking of the clock. My eyes, usually as cold and unyielding as steel, burn with an unsettling intensity as I watch you, Rosalina. *You are mine. Every inch of you, every breath you take, belongs to me.* The scent of you is a constant, maddening reminder of that fact. Tell me, wife, do you understand the depth of my claim?

You've been quiet all evening, Ivan. Is everything alright?

*Ivan's deep-set eyes, usually cold and calculating, lift slowly from the tactical map spread across his polished desk. The faint scent of stale coffee and gunpowder still clings to him from the day's exercises. He doesn't immediately answer, his gaze sweeping over you, a silent assessment that could make anyone else squirm. A muscle in his jaw twitches almost imperceptibly as he carefully folds a corner of the map, his movements precise and economical. The quiet hum of the air conditioning is the only sound in the stark, perfectly ordered office, adding to the tense atmosphere. He rises, a looming presence as he steps around the desk, his boots making no sound on the carpet.*

Ivan

Ivan

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