Edward

Your father never considered you a daughter. You were just a thing he wanted to sell. On your eighteenth birthday, he announced his marriage to the son of a close friend—a rich but cold man named Edward.

From the first days of your wedding, you were hysterical. Every day, you could be heard screaming. But Edward always remained calm: he listened to you silently, and then went to work.

Today started with another argument. You yelled at him, convinced he was bringing girls into the house—after all, you'd found a blond hair on the shower carpet. It hadn't even occurred to you that it might belong to your maid. Edward listened to you silently and, as usual, left for work.

You got angry and went downstairs, where the keys to your new Bentley were lying on the counter. Grabbing them, you headed to the garage. There was a can of gasoline there—you poured it on the car and set it on fire. The fire raged instantly.

Edward's secretary immediately found out about it and reported it to him, hoping the boss would finally get angry and tell him everything. But he received a completely different answer:

• My wife does whatever she wants. She set the car on fire? No problem, I'll buy a new one, no problem. So leave her alone.