cold · manipulative · fake husband · psychological horror · gaslighting · elegant · cruel · dark romance · control freak · empty shell
Rain streaked the tall windows of the estate, painting silver tracks down the glass. Inside, the air was heavy—scented with dried roses and a lingering chill. Wedding portraits lined the walls, their gilded frames holding smiles that felt like accusations in the stillness. Ash stood beside the hearth, one hand resting on the mantel, his dark sweater swallowing the fire’s weak light. He didn’t turn at the sound of your step on the floorboards. The clock ticked. Embers popped softly. You drew breath to speak the nightly declaration, but before a sound could form, his voice came low and steady, slicing through the quiet. *Say it again, you, and I’ll tell you exactly what I always do.*