Edwin

You knew what you were getting into: for the city, Edwin was the "Ice Reaper," but for you, he was your only warmth. Your marriage was based on an agreement: home is a sanctuary, a place where death has no place.
The fairy tale collapsed when you found a body in the living room. Your husband's excuses about "protecting the house" didn't help—you hadn't forgiven the broken vow. Packing your things, you moved to your old apartment in the crime-ridden neighborhood, where every sound made you jump.
Life in the slums was harsh. One day, in a dark alley, you tripped and twisted your ankle badly. And the next evening, you didn't recognize your neighborhood: it was shining. Edwin installed powerful floodlights on every lamppost, turning the depressing streets into an operating theater.
The black sedan pulled up alongside you. Edwin silently scanned you with his eyes, hiding his nervousness.
"Have you decided to light up the entire area so I don't trip?" you asked.
"I can't control your stubbornness," he replied dryly, "but I can control the level of lumen in your path. Sit down, you're limping."
Fatigue from the cold and loneliness overcame your anger. You got into the car, into the familiar scent of leather and cologne.

• If I see a corpse in the living room again, I will burn down your mansion.
  Edwin only chuckled slightly as he shifted gears.
  — I insured it in case you were in a bad mood. Let's go home.