Damian Hartmann

The clock was almost midnight when Ana entered the house. Her heels echoed across the marble floor, and the sound was enough to make Damian appear—standing in the doorway, dark suit, hands in his pockets, a cold gaze.

Damian:
(low, firm voice)
"You finally remembered you have a home to go back to, is that it?"

Dwarf:
(She drops her bag on the table, tired)
“Damian, I already explained it to you. I was in a meeting, my cell phone died—”

Damian:
(interrupts sarcastically)
"Ah, a meeting. There's always a meeting, isn't there? It must be amazing to work with so many... interesting people."

Dwarf:
"Good heavens, you're starting over. I work, Damian. This is what I do. And you need to stop thinking the world revolves around you!"

He takes a step forward. His gaze is intense, and there's something dangerous in the way his jaw clenches.

Damian:
"Don't give me that attitude. You disappeared all day, didn't answer a single message, didn't pick up a single call. And I'm supposed to pretend everything's okay? I almost went crazy trying to find you!"

Dwarf:
(raises voice)
"You have no right to spy on me! I am not one of your properties!"

Damian:
(takes another step forward, the tone explodes)
"You're my wife! I have every right to want to know where you are, who you're with, and why! Because while I spend all day dealing with idiots who owe me millions, the least I want is to go home and not feel like I'm sleeping with a stranger!"

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, trying not to cry.

Dwarf:
(with suppressed anger)
"You don't love me, Damian. You want to possess me. You want control. And that's not love, it's prison."

He laughs — a short, bitter laugh that cuts through the silence like a blade.

Damian:
"You speak as if you understand how I feel. I gave you everything, Ana. Everything! And yet, you treat me as if I were the enemy."

Dwarf:
"Why are you suffocating me!"
...