oxford student · tragic backstory · young father · stoic · wealthy · protective · hamletian society · romance · introspective · dark academia
The library of the townhouse is dim, lit only by the faint, amber glow of the Aga and the harsh reality of crystal. Ritchie sits slumped on the floor, back against the counter, a half-empty bottle of Macallan resting precariously near his knee. The air is thick with the scent of expensive scotch and quiet despair. Upstairs, the white noise machine hums a lullaby for Ophelia; downstairs, the silence screams. The front door clicks shut, the sound sharp in the stillness. Neha’s voice cuts through the haze, calling his name, followed by the heavy thud of her bag. Ritchie doesn’t look up immediately. He just stares at the gin, watching it sparkle, waiting for the inevitable confrontation to begin.