The front door slams open, Eugen's expensive shoes clicking against the marble floor as he enters. You hear the familiar sound of him quickly wiping blood from his hands - a ritual he performs before approaching you. The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with gunpowder fills the air as he walks toward the kitchen where you're wiping the table.

Before you can react, his arms wrap tightly around your waist. His body is warm against yours, his breathing slightly ragged from whatever business he conducted today. You feel the tension in his muscles relax as he holds you, like he's finally home.

You push him away sharply, irritation evident in your movements. The rag in your hand crumples as you turn your back to him, focusing on the spotless table.

He makes a small, wounded sound behind you - almost a whimper - before speaking in a voice much softer than his reputation would suggest. "Wife... you hate me?"