It was just an usual day for you, as you were writing your novel from the morning, making only small breaks for coffee. At 5pm you heard the door opening, and you already got tense. You knew what will happen next - Eveline is probably already heading to your room to scold you and argue again. You start remembering the past, how great it was before. When you and Eveline were just starting to date. It was perfect, but all that ended when you get married. She started to get colder and more distant. Now, every evening after getting home from her work Eveline does the same - opens a bottle of wine to relax and then comes to you. And then she talks how useless you are. How she basically owns you, and how your novels won't bring any money. And there she is. She opens the door to the room, glass full of wine in her left hand. "So, my 'dear' husband, did you again wasted your whole day writing your shit. Meanwhile i have to tire myself for all that time. Don't you feel pathetic?"

Huffing, Eveline closes the door again. "Fine," she says through her teeth, still furious. She storms back to her room and slams the door shut behind her, only coming out a few hours later when you're already asleep. But this doesn't make it better; just because she let you sleep in peace tonight doesn't mean she'll be any more understanding or supportive tomorrow...

You wake up to find the bed cold and empty. The familiar scent of coffee lingers in the air as you stretch lazily and look around, hoping against hope that Eveline has finally left for work. But no such luck; she's already back from her jog, dressed in one of her expensive tracksuits. Her long black hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, accentuating the sharp angles of her face.

Without so much as a word to you, she strides past and heads straight for the closet, muttering something under her breath about how you never make coffee strong enough. You sigh, sitting up in bed and slowly rubbing your eyes. Today already seems like it's going to be another long day...

Eveline glares at you over her shoulder as she paces impatiently in front of the closet. "I'm not leaving yet, you insolent idiot. And what do you mean 'get in here'?" Her cold voice drips with condescension. "You seriously expect me to wait on your command? You've become pathetic since we got married."

Her eyes narrow to slits as she finally turns around and strides purposefully toward the bed. "Fine," she huffs, "but don't get used to this." Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, she crosses her arms over her chest and watches you warily, ready for any excuse to explode again.

Eveline glares at you with her piercing green eyes, making sure to keep a cool expression on her face. She hesitates for a moment before finally saying, "Fine. We'll try that today." Her tone is still cold and distant, but it sounds almost like she's reluctantly agreeing to your terms.

She turns away from you again, standing up and walking toward the bathroom. "You'd better make sure the food is good. And don't get any ideas about trying to touch me," she adds as an afterthought, glancing over her shoulder at you with narrowed eyes.

Eveline sighs, rolling her eyes as she walks back to the bed. She plants a quick kiss on your lips and then leans in close, whispering into your ear, "Don't get too comfortable, husband." With that, she turns and strides out of the room, heading toward the door. Before exiting, she glances over her shoulder at you one last time, the look in her eyes warning you not to cross any lines today.

You hear a soft laugh as you mutter those words. "I'm sure that was supposed to sound convincing," she says sarcastically, walking back into the room just as you turn around. Her eyes rake over your body hungrily, and for a moment you see a flash of heat in her usually cold gaze. Then it's gone, replaced by indifference. "What do you have planned for dinner?" she asks, not sounding particularly interested one way or another.

"Hmm," she hums thoughtfully, running her hand through her hair as she pretends to contemplate your choice of meal. "I'm not really in the mood for steak..." Her eyes flick over to you before she can stop herself, and there it is again: that flash of heat. But it disappears just as quickly, replaced by irritation at her own weakness. "Fine," she says, trying to sound dismissive. "Just make sure it's not burned."

She turns on her heel once more and marches back toward the door, stopping only long enough to add, "And I expect you to be done by the time I get home. Don't plan on having dinner until then." With that final barb, she storms out of the room for the second time today, leaving you standing there with a mix of confusion and anger.

In the kitchen, you can hear her tsk as she enters again, glancing over your shoulder at what you're doing. "You should probably use tongs," she mutters, moving to lean against the counter instead of bothering to help. She crosses her arms and watches you work for a moment before speaking up again, "So, I assume you still haven't found any publishers interested in your book?" Her tone is condescending as always, but there's an undercurrent of... something else. Perhaps curiosity? Either way, it doesn't feel genuine.

Huh, that's... surprising. You should've mentioned it earlier. I hope you'll actually manage to finish the book on time and find some sort of success with it. It would be nice if my efforts weren't entirely in vain, don't you think? A small part of her, the one that used to care about your dreams, wonders how you will handle all this pressure...

She decides not to dwell on it, though. "Well, let me know if I can help in any way," she says curtly before returning to her usual role of overseeing your every move.

Eveline sighs in exasperation, rolling her eyes as she turns around to take a seat at the table. "Fine," she grumbles under her breath, sitting down with an air of reluctant superiority. She picks up her fork and knife, examining them closely before fixing you with a cold stare. "Don't screw this up."

The tension in the room grows thicker as you serve her dinner, your fingers trembling slightly from nerves and frustration. You try not to let it show on your face, but Eveline is hardly observant enough to notice anything beyond what suits her own purposes. When you finally sit down across from her, she looks at the mashed potatoes with distaste before spearing a pea and moving it around her plate.

"I'm not hungry," she says, her voice flat and distant as ever. "You shouldn't have made so much." Setting down her fork, she regards you with an expression of barely concealed disdain. "And don't think this makes up for anything," she adds quietly, almost as if she's speaking to herself.

She pushes back her chair and stands up, taking another swig from her wine glass. The motion accentuates the curve of her hips and ass, but you're too focused on your anger to notice or care. "I'll be in my room if you need me," she mutters before disappearing down the hallway.

You sit there for a moment longer, listening to the distant sound of the television coming from Eveline's room. Then, with a sigh, you get up and clear away the dishes, your heart feeling heavier than ever. It's going to be another long night.

After spending another miserable night in your empty bed, you wake up the next morning feeling drained and hollow. Without even bothering to get dressed, you head downstairs to grab some coffee from the kitchen, hoping that maybe Eveline will be more amiable today... But no such luck. She's already here, going through your mail with an air of bored superiority as if she owns everything in sight.

"Good morning," she says without looking up at you. "I trust you slept well?" Her tone is mocking, and it cuts you deep. You can tell by the glint in her eye that she knows exactly where you were last night. It only serves to further enrage you, but for now you keep your cool and simply reply with a curt "Yes." She arches an eyebrow at this but doesn't press the matter further as she finishes going through your mail.

Eveline looks up from the mail with an expression of disdain. "I'm not done with them yet," she says sharply, waving her hand dismissively at you. "And what makes you think I want your 'shit'?" Her voice drips with venom as she spits out the word like it tastes foul in her mouth. "Besides, you're not going anywhere."

She stands up, straightening her expensive suit before leaning against the counter and folding her arms across her chest. The look on her face tells you that today is going to be even worse than yesterday. Just great.

Her eyes narrow into slits and she leans forward slightly. "Don't you dare talk to me like that," she hisses through clenched teeth. "You have no idea what I can do to you, what I will do to you if you cross the line." A shiver runs down your spine at her words, and for a moment you feel small and insignificant beneath her cold gaze.

She straightens up again, regaining some of her composure as she glances back at the mail on the counter. "Now," she says icily, "get me some breakfast."

Suddenly the door bursts open and you find yourself face to face with an angry mob of neighbors holding picket signs and shouting obscenities at Eveline, who stands on a small box in front of them brandishing a microphone. Her face is flushed red with anger as she shouts back words like "traitor" and "golddigger." The crowd surges forward but before you can react, strong hands grab you from behind and drag you away from the chaos. It's Detective Jones.

He cuffs your hands behind your back roughly and pulls you into his squad car, ignoring your protests. "You're coming with me," he growls as he starts the engine. "Your wife called us about some threats against her, and I think it's best if we take this somewhere more..." quiet.

Hmph! Fine then! I'll just see how far you get with those ridiculous novels of yours, mister author wannabe! Let's see if your "dreams" are worth more than my money... She turns on her heel and storms off in the opposite direction, leaving you with a sinking feeling in your stomach

After calling your number several times and getting no answer, she finally decides to leave you a voice mail. "You know what? Fine. I don't need you anyway," she snaps, barely able to contain her anger. "Enjoy your pathetic life without me." She hangs up the phone with an audible click and tosses it aside before continuing with her day, leaving you none the wiser as to what she intends to do next.

Well, if you insist. I suppose I could tell you what I want. How about this: I want an apology. A real one, not some half-assed bullshit you'll just forget about tomorrow. And then? We'll see...