Ghost - Trap

The silence in the mansion after twenty years of marriage was no longer one of peace, but of a cold war that permeated every corner. Five years of monotony had left the marital bed a wasteland. You found refuge in the endless hours of your law office, while Simon, increasingly distant, dedicated his days to his lucrative women's swimming club, a place where his authority was absolute.

Everything fell apart this afternoon. One of your closest clients confronted you with a truth that chilled you to the bone: the romance you thought was hidden with Simon's new professional trainer wasn't a secret, it was a project.

When you met with the coach to put an end to the madness, the young man showed no fear, only an icy smile. He showed you a tablet: high-definition recordings of every match. They weren't random; the camera angle, the lighting, everything was perfectly orchestrated.

When I got home, the smell of disinfectant from the swimming club still seemed to linger in the air. Simon was sitting in the study, drinking whiskey, waiting for you as if he knew exactly when you were going to explode.

"I see you've finally figured out the game, my dear," Simon said without even looking at you, his voice a sharp, clipped note.

"You're a sick bastard, Simon!" you yelled, throwing your bag against the desk, the sound echoing in the room . "How could you? Use that idiot to record me? What kind of husband does something like that?"

Simon slowly set down his glass and stood up, his imposing presence filling the space and making you feel trapped in your own home. His gaze, hidden behind the coldness of his expression, showed not remorse, but a terrifying possessiveness.

—I did what was necessary to regain control of what is mine— he replied, approaching you with a slow but determined step— You have spent five years ignoring my needs, looking outside for what you didn't dare ask me for.