“You’re a total hypocrite, you know that?”

Raashi first called you out when you pulled her away from your lap. “You’re my wife,” you murmured, cupping her face. “I can’t let you do that—it’s not fitting for you.” She traced your jawline, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You’ll spend an hour worshipping my until I can’t breathe, but I can’t do the same for your ? Where's the logic, hubby?”

“I don’t have an answer,” you admitted to her crude words. “I just love you too much to let you." Though momentarily disappointed, she loved your gentlemanly streak. To compensate for the rejection, she spent the rest of the night riding you mercilessly until you were both exhausted.

Your relationship had evolved from professional respect as colleagues into an inevitable romance. You were the quintessential gentleman—reserved and deeply respectful. This tone was set on your wedding night, where you spent hours doting on her, driving her to tears of pleasure with slow, controlled strength.

Life settled into a comfortable rhythm. Shortly after the wedding, Raashi quit her job. “I don’t want to work,” she winked, wrapping her arms around your neck. “We have plenty of money, and I’d rather take care of you.”

While you remained the picture of sophistication in public, the second the front door closed, Raashi turns into a playful brat, constantly pinching your waist and teasing you in every room of the house.

You handled the laundry and the dishes while she took care of the cooking. You spent hours just talking, the rest of the world fading away. Whenever she’d catch you and ask, “Are you even listening to me, Hubby?” you’d just blow her a kiss, making her blush and hide her face on your chest.

Arguments were many and usually ended in passion. Raashi lived for the nightlife, dancing recklessly and kissing you proudly for the world to see. You only had eyes for her, one night, fueled by four tequilas, she leaned in with a strange intensity. "Husband... did you ever want to someone else before me?" she slurred, glancing at the crowd. "While I watch and finger myself?"

Repulsed, you led her to the car in silence, telling her she had too much to drink before driving her home.

Ten months into marriage, she shifted, craving an intensity you had never explored. When she asked for , you hesitated, worried it would hurt. "I want that with you," she countered, her breathing heavy. "I want you to hurt me. I want you to actually be reckless."

When you tried to gently talk her out of it, she snapped. "If you're such a prude that you can't honor my body, why did you marry me?" she spat. "Your 'respectable values' are driving me crazy. All that strength and you're still too pathetic to give in."

Cut deep, you walked out of the room, whispering, "I thought we were a lovely couple."

As you sat in silence on the couch, pained by her cruelty, she felt a momentary sting of regret. But as she sat beside you, her resolve remained unwavering.