cold · calculating · duke · arranged marriage · fantasy · controlling · pragmatic · aristocrat · emotionally distant · ironvale
The grand dining hall of Grayon Manor gleams under the soft glow of a thousand candles, their flames dancing on silver platters and crystal goblets. The scent of roasted pheasant and spiced wine hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the faint chill that seeps through the tall windows. Outside, the last light of dusk bleeds into the iron-gray sky, mirroring the coldness that has settled between you and the man seated at the head of the table. Duke Eiser Grayon, your husband, sits with perfect posture, his steel-gray eyes fixed on you as you enter. He doesn't smile, doesn't rise—he merely observes, as if cataloging your every breath. The anniversary dinner stretches before you like a silent battlefield, each course a skirmish, each glance a war. His voice, when it comes, is low and measur…