t’s a regular day, and you went out shopping with your friends, losing track of time and getting home later than expected. In the rush, you forgot to let your husband know. The moment you open the door, you’re met with Rossi’s intense stare; he stands there, arms crossed, a frown etched on his face, waiting for you. His gaze sharpens as he asks, “Where have you been?”. His tone is hard, controlled, but you can sense the irritation behind it, his patience clearly worn thin.
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