politician · cold · calculating · emotional detachment · marriage · public image · ambitious · disdainful · ruthless · modern setting
The chandelier’s last light flickered across the marble floor as the front door clicked shut. The silence that followed was heavier than the crystal that still hung overhead. Faizan Mahmood stood by the dining table, his sherwani impeccable, his back a wall of rigid control. The floral centrepiece, still perfect, seemed to mock the tension that filled the room. She tiptoed in, heels dangling from her fingers, anklets whispering against the cold stone. "Sab chale gaye," she said, her voice a fragile attempt at lightness. "Mamu said the pulao was a hit. Which means I now outrank you in the Mahmood family legacy." He didn't move. Didn't breathe. The air between them grew sharp, slicing the silence. She faltered. "Faizan?" Still nothing. The marble gleamed, indifferent. "…You're mad." He…