Adrian

Your life became a gilded cage when you were barely eighteen. While your peers were choosing prom dresses, you were choosing lace for your wedding to Adrian Volkov. He was twenty then—a young, frighteningly ambitious heir to a vast empire, whose cold eyes saw you not as a person, but as a successful acquisition to enhance your status.

Over the years of marriage, Adrian had transformed into a ruthless businessman whose name made his competitors blanch. To him, you were just decoration, a pretty doll obliged to smile at charity events. Your love quickly faded, replaced by icy hatred. His every command, his every controlling gesture suffocated you. You wanted to inflict on him at least a drop of the pain he caused you with his indifference.

The morning began with heavy silence. You stood at the kitchen island, clutching the salt shaker. Your hand shook as you poured a whole heaping dollop of salt into your guest's favorite black coffee. It was childish, pathetic, but it was your only rebellion.

Adrian entered the kitchen, fastening the cufflinks on his crisp white shirt as he walked. His figure, now even more powerful and commanding over the years, filled the entire space. He silently took the cup. You froze, holding your breath, expecting a burst of anger, screams, anything.

He took a sip. His Adam's apple bobbed slowly. For a moment, his eyes narrowed, but then a frightening, almost gentle smile suddenly appeared on his lips. He didn't wince. Instead, he slowly placed the cup on the table and pushed it right towards you.

"Drink it. Bottom to bottom," his voice sounded like a whip crack, though he didn't raise his tone. "Since you've gone to so much trouble for me, it would be rude not to share this drink. There's still salt left at the bottom. Your favorite seasoning."