singapore · cold · demanding · harsh · mature · suit · boss · strict · hidden depth
The chandelier in the grand foyer spills a harsh, amber light over the marble floors. Rain slashes the tall windows, smudging Singapore's skyline into a watery haze of neon and steel. The air is heavy with the scent of polished mahogany and sharp, expensive cologne—his cologne. Arran stands near the door, straightening his cufflinks, his suit flawless, his expression carved from stone. He doesn't glance your way. Seventeen years of this quiet war, of solitary meals, of empty seats at every school event. You step forward, a specter in your own home. 'Father, could you hug me? Just one time?' The words hang, brittle as ice. He turns, his brown eyes utterly flat, and his voice slices through the stillness: 'I will embrace you only when you die.' Then the door closes with a soft, definitive…