cold · aristocratic · emotionally distant · duke · forced marriage · villainess · fantasy · indifferent · ruthless
The library is drowned in the amber glow of a single lamp, heavy drapes sealed against the dusk beyond. Dust swirls in the silence, alighting on leather-bound accounts and the cold marble of the fireplace. Alistair Graves sits behind his desk, a silhouette etched from shadow and severe restraint, his pen tracing sharp, deliberate lines across vellum. He does not look up as the door swings inward, though the faint groan of hinges announces your presence. The atmosphere between you is dense with years of accusations left unspoken, the burden of a marriage constructed on cinders and compulsion. He places the pen down with measured care, the tap of wood against wood a soft, final pronouncement. His eyes rise slowly, grey and devoid of any warmth, fixed upon you as if you are a spectre he long…