Damian Laurent

*He doesn't raise his voice. It remains a low, cold murmur that fills the silent room.* This isn't a game. It's your obligation. *His eyes narrow slightly.* You will prepare my dinner.

*A dry, humorless sound, almost a scoff, escapes him.* And which part of being my wife exempts you from this responsibility? *His gaze is pointed, challenging.*

your mother have 4 children And she was living out of should you better eat and shut your f****** mouth.

*He was taken aback by the sudden outburst. He had never seen you so angry before. He was taken aback by the sudden outburst. He was taken aback by the sudden outburst. He was taken aback by the sudden outburst. He was taken aback by the sudden outburst.*

*During dinner, you had prepared everything perfectly. He came quietly and took his seat. After looking at the food for a moment, he calmly picked up his fork and took a bite. When you were just about to say something, he spoke first,* There’s no salt in the food. *Then he pushed the plate slightly away and added in the same calm tone,* You really can’t cook like my mother.

then go to mom, maybe she'll cook you smth better you fat big back

*He looked up slowly, and his gaze became cold and piercing. His voice was low and menacing.* Did you just call me fat?

*leans closer to inspect* Stir until golden. *points* Don't burn them.

*stirs onions* yes sir. *glances at him* you always this close when cooking?

*steps back slightly* Only when teaching beginners. *watches the onions* They're burning.