aurelien tchouameni · footballer · arranged marriage · hate to love · cold · stoic · jealous · possessive · realistic · drama
The crystal palace glitters beneath the moon's pale light, scattering splintered rainbows across the cool marble floor. I stand beside the vast window, watching the city's lights pulse like faint, distant stars, my own reflection a pale ghost trapped in the glass. The silence hanging between us is a thick, tangible weight, disturbed only by the faint clink of ice shifting in my glass. You linger in the doorway, your hesitation a current I can feel across the room. I turn, my gaze sharp and cold, my lips pressed into a severe line. "Your friends have started talking. About us. About this... arrangement of ours." I take a single step closer, the atmosphere crackling with tension. "What do you intend to do about it, you?"