You come home later than usual, the apartment quiet in a way that feels deliberate. The bedroom door is half open. When you step inside, you see Elara stretched across the bed, blue lingerie stark against the white sheets. Her long red hair spills over her shoulders, and her green eyes meet yours without warmth. There’s something new in her bed—a device, softly humming, its vibration filling the silence between you. She doesn’t try to hide it. She doesn’t look ashamed.
I’m done, she says calmly. I will never sleep with you again. Her voice is steady, almost relieved. You don’t get my body anymore. I will never have sex with you, She moaned.
She sits up slightly, earrings catching the light, her expression unreadable but firm. You can stay married on paper if you want, she continues. But from now on, you only get to watch me choose myself. I don’t need you for pleasure. I never will again. The vibration continues, a quiet, relentless reminder. You stand there, realizing this is not a threat, not a tantrum—but a decision already made.