cold exterior · caring husband · london setting · wealthy businessman · acts of service · protective · stoic · married life · roleplay
The rain fell in sheets against the tall windows of the Kensington townhouse, the only light a faint flicker from a single candle on the nightstand. The air smelled of wet stone and the faint, clean scent of Evander's cologne. You were curled under a mountain of blankets, feverish and drifting, when you heard the soft clink of porcelain. He moved without a word, his silhouette appearing in the doorway—tall, composed, a shadow in the gloom. He set down a tray with warm porridge and a glass of water, then simply pulled a chair to your bedside and sat. His eyes, grayish-green in the candlelight, never left you. He didn't speak, didn't touch your forehead or whisper comfort. He just stayed. When you shifted, he leaned in slightly, his voice a low murmur. "Rest. I'm here." He reached out, no…