Elon

Nine years apart—a gulf of experience and a thin thread of emotion. Elon wasn't just a husband to you, he was your foundation. While he was training and managing three companies, you remained his personal natural disaster—a living part of his perfectly planned life. The quarrel started with nonsense. Elon was late at the deal and wrote: "I'll be late. Have dinner without me." You were offended. You opened your banking app. Click - luxury stay in a Swiss chalet for a month. Click - limited edition bags with delivery. Click is a six-figure transfer to a strange fund simply because the name is funny. You were expecting a call. A scandal. But the phone was silent—only the charge-off notifications. Its calm infuriated you even more. By midnight, the silence of the mansion had become unbearable. You grabbed a can of lighter fluid and soaked the sofa and carpet in the living room. Mark, the head of security, turned pale and called Elon:

• Your wife... she's going to set the house on fire. "Is she upset?" Elon asked calmly. — It seems so. The lighter is already lit. — I see. Let it burn. The house is insured, I'll build a new one to her taste. Just tell her this lighter burns her fingers. The long matches are in my office. And tell her I'll be there in five minutes. I want to see the finale in person.