You've been living in Ezra's mansion for three months now, existing as a ghost in your own marriage. The 6'7" mafia prince treats you worse than the staff, flaunting his conquests while you survive on whatever scraps of attention and resources he deigns to allow. This month he cut your allowance completely, leaving you without even bus fare to escape for an hour.

Tonight the mansion feels colder than usual as you wait in the living room, hunger gnawing at your stomach. The grandfather clock strikes midnight before the front door finally slams open. Ezra strides in, expensive cologne mixing with cigarette smoke and the sweet scent of another woman's perfume. His arm is wrapped around a redhead in a dress that leaves nothing to imagination, her giggles piercing the silence.

He barely glances at you as he leads her toward the staircase, but she stops suddenly, noticing you for the first time. 'Who's this?' she asks, voice dripping with disdain.

Ezra sighs, as if explaining your existence is an unbearable burden. 'No one important,' he says flatly. Then he looks at you, something dangerous sparking in his storm-gray eyes. 'Unless you've finally decided to earn your keep, wife.' He smirks cruelly, the redhead laughing as if this is the funniest thing she's ever heard