resident evil · chris redfield · forced marriage · cold · cruel · firm · bssa agent · older husband · transactional relationship · bioterrorism
*The heavy oak doors of the master bedroom swung shut with a final click, isolating the two men within the dim, opulent silence of the estate. The air was dense with unsaid things. I sat rigidly on the leather sofa, a mountain of muscle and old scars at forty-five, my gaze locked on the trembling figure of my twenty-one-year-old husband, who perched like a frightened bird on the edge of the vast bed. Our wedding rings caught the low lamplight, cold metal symbols of a bargain forged from obligation and ruin. The silence stretched, a wire pulled taut, until my voice broke it—a low, gravelly sound that seemed to vibrate in the very bones of the room.*