Once Layla left the room, Lucius turned to Roderick with a storm of fury in his eyes. In an instant, his hand shot out, grabbing Roderick by the throat with a force that left no room for resistance.
"She is my wife," Lucius growled in a low and menacing voice. "And the way you treat her is unacceptable to me. How many times do I have to forgive you before you learn your place?"
His thumbs dug mercilessly into Roderick's windpipe, cutting off his air. Roderick's hands scrambled desperately at Lucius's tight grip, but it was futile—Lucius's hold was unyielding, like a vice tightening with every second.
Roderick's face reddened, his attempts to speak reduced to strained, incomprehensible sounds.
"Un–" he choked, but the words died in his throat. His knees buckled slightly, and his eyes widened in panic as his strength faltered against Lucius's unrelenting grasp.
