Modern Villa – Morning
It was the dawn of a new day. The gentle warmth of the sunlight spilled over the roof and onto the vibrant, multi-colored garden stretching across the front of the sprawling villa.
At the main entrance... a well-built man and a slender woman—a couple—emerged, appearing intimate and sweet as they shared a soft, melodic conversation. They had just finished breakfast together, and now, it was time for her to see her husband off to work, as was her custom.
Stopping before the car where an assistant already held the door open, Vincent Everett looked at his wife. He caught a sudden flash of sadness on her face, and he understood why.
"My dear wife, I am only going to work. I don't want to see you sad; it makes me worry about you and keeps my mind from being at ease."
He took her hand, stroking it tenderly to comfort her. Rilda Laurent forced a smile. Once she was sure she had perfected the look, she lifted her face to gaze at him, radiating positive emotions once more before speaking:
"Even though I do not wish to be apart from my husband, this is your work, and I must force myself to endure the distance."
She released his hand and placed hers around his waist, resting her head against his chest.
"Besides, I don't want my husband to be unhappy. A wife must be the part that brings joy to her husband."
Vincent stroked her back while his eyes drifted toward the distance. He seemed deep in thought as he listened to her words. A moment later, he pulled back, playing the role of the devoted husband perfectly. He kissed her forehead lightly before stepping away again. He offered her an encouraging smile:
"My wife, I will return to you this evening. Now, it is time for me to head to work. When I arrive, I will call to let you know, just to ensure your happiness."
Rilda nodded, playing the part of the ever-compliant wife:
"I agree, my dear husband."
He gave her head one last pat before turning away. But before entering the car, he paused once more to look back at her.
"Stay here, wife. Please enjoy whatever you wish to do—whether it's getting some good rest or spending your free time counting your money."
Rilda tilted her chin, making it look as though she wasn't happy at all, yet she replied:
"I am listening, my dear husband."
Satisfied, Vincent entered his car. The door closed, and the vehicle pulled away.
On the long road flanked by beautiful scenery and cooled by a light breeze, the luxury car glided along. Slowly, the rear window rolled down.
A cold face emerged, the polite and sweet man from moments ago now completely vanished. Vincent stared outside, his mind drifting through a sea of thoughts.
"Boss."
The assistant in the front seat, next to the driver, handed a wet wipe to his employer. He knew his boss needed it; this was his routine duty.
Vincent turned his gaze away from the scenery and took the wipe. First, he pressed it firmly against his lips, rubbing hard. Once finished, he proceeded to wipe every single finger before tossing the wipe out of the car. The assistant was already prepared with a small bottle of sanitizer for his master's final cleansing.
The scent of disinfectant sprayed over his body and throughout the car as his hand pressed down, moving in sharp, zig-zag motions from top to bottom. When it was empty, he threw it away, and a faint smile finally touched his lips. He felt hygienic again, having washed the "filth" from his body.
Standing before the home of their four-year marriage, Rilda curled her lip to one side as she watched the car disappear from sight. At this moment, she was free to do exactly what she wanted. And the first thing she wanted to get rid of was...
Her hands reached behind her, and her dress unzipped, sliding down to the floor. All that remained was a shimmering red mini-dress that cut high at her thighs. She stepped out of the heap, using the tip of her toe to kick the modest dress into the garden—the one he had planted to represent his love for her.
"The performance is over. Time for my joyful freedom."
She turned and headed back inside with a spirited, rhythmic stride. As she disappeared, the housekeeper came out to see the mistress heading upstairs. The housekeeper then walked to the garden to retrieve the discarded dress.
She shook her head. This wasn't the first time; it had been like this throughout their marriage. She didn't know what kind of love they shared. It almost drove her mad to see them so sweet when together, yet like two completely different people when apart.
Did they truly love each other, or was this all just an act? Scratching her head, she walked inside with a heavy sigh, as the television remained on, broadcasting their "sweet romance" to the world, accompanied by the admiration of international news outlets.