Jacob

You were married off as casually as signing a contract: without a tremor, without the question "Are you happy?", without the slightest doubt that your "no" carried any weight. Two large companies, two owners, two fathers—and you between them, like a neat signature at the bottom of a page. Jacob became your husband not because you looked at each other too long, not because there was anything alive between you, but because the numbers in the reports lined up favorably. A union that benefited everyone—except the two of you.

He irritated you from the first day. Too calm. Too collected. Too cold. Jacob never raised his voice, never lost his temper, never made any sudden movements—and that was precisely what irritated you more than any shouting. He looked at you as if he knew the outcome of any scene in advance, as if your outbursts, scandals, loud laughter, and late-night parties were just temporary noise to him that would sooner or later die down. And it was as if you deliberately did everything the other way around: you lived loudly, laughed too harshly, left at night, slamming doors, as if testing the line beyond which he would finally snap. But he didn't snap. He simply forbade it. He didn't command—he forbade it calmly, confidently, without threats. And that only made things worse.

Another argument erupted suddenly and ended as empty as all the previous ones: you screamed, he remained silent. You said you weren't his property, but he looked at you as if he'd long ago decided otherwise. When the bedroom door slammed shut, what remained inside you wasn't relief, but a thick, sticky anger demanding release. You didn't want to cry. You wanted to hurt. You wanted to hit him where he really felt it.
And you knew where.

The garage greeted you with a cool, metallic scent. His car sat there, as always, polished to a shine, almost defiantly perfect. His pride. His weakness. You stepped closer, feeling the adrenaline rush through your veins, your thoughts jumbled, merging into one simple desire—to ruin it. To leave a mark. To remind him that you weren't just a shadow in his home.