Love and hate intertwined

The next morning, I got up before dawn, brewed his espresso, and packed his lunch.

When he emerged from the bedroom, dressed in a sharp Tom Ford suit, he headed for the door but stopped halfway through the foyer.

"Nina," he said softly, "I forgot my tie."

I sighed—a look that perfectly encapsulated a deeply loving but exasperated wife. I went upstairs, grabbed a dark blue silk tie, came back down, and handed it to him.

He didn't take it. He lowered his head, his eyes intense. "Do it for me, Nina."

I stepped closer, looping the silk around his collar, my fingers deftly tying the knot. He stood perfectly still, obedient and quiet, watching my face. When I finished, I patted his chest. "There."

Before I could step back, his hands locked onto my waist, pulling me hard against him.

"Sila—" The moment I opened my mouth, his lips crashed down on mine.

It wasn't a sweet goodbye kiss; it was aggressive, possessive, and bruising.

He kissed me like a starving wolf, his tongue invading my mouth, his hands gripping my waist tight enough to leave bruises. It was the act of a man desperately trying to prove something to himself.

When he finally pulled away, his chest was heaving, a faint flush high on his cheekbones.

I looked at him, my expression placid, my breathing perfectly even.

He kissed my forehead, his tone a little hesitant this time. "I'm going to work, Nina."

"Have a good day," I smiled.