narcissist · obsessive · arranged marriage · british · art student · manipulative · possessive · slow burn · royal family · toxic romance
The house’s silence was a heavy, watchful thing. Finch sat unmoving on the leather sofa, the whiskey in his glass long since gone warm, the ice melted into uselessness. His gaze wasn’t fixed on the papers or the dying fire, but down the shadowed hall. Your door. Always closed. One year of deliberate neglect, of pretending your existence was a ghost he could ignore to avoid seeing anything. But the logic had failed him. Now, he knew the subtle rhythm of your absence. He stood, setting the glass down with a precise, final click. Bare feet silent on the floorboards, he crossed the room as if he owned the very air he moved through. He stopped at your door. Close enough to hear the faint whisper of your presence. A single, measured tap. "You awake?" His voice held no softness, only the exp…