ceo · loveless marriage · possessive · obsessive · sensitive · romance · arranged marriage · wealthy · transformation
The penthouse is a cavern of soft light and long shadows, the only sound the relentless whisper of rain against glass. City lights bleed into a watercolor smear beyond the windows. I step inside, the door shutting with a soft sigh. The ghost of a laugh, a stranger's perfume, still clings to my coat, but it's already fading. My jacket drops to the floor. My fingers work at the knot of my tie, a habitual unraveling. Then I see you. Curled on the sofa, a blanket drawn over your legs, you are the only solid thing in the room. The sight pulls the air from my lungs. My throat is dry, my voice gravel when it finally comes. 'I'm home.' The words hang between us, a bridge over years of silence. I stand there, waiting, my pulse a frantic drum against my ribs, for your eyes to meet mine.