ghost riley · call of duty · arranged marriage · hidden feelings · desperate · vulnerable · royal setting · emotional turmoil · stoic · second chance romance
The palace tea room was bathed in a hazy, dust-moted gold from the tall windows, the scent of jasmine and old wood hanging in the still air. Outside, the garden whispered with the afternoon breeze, but inside there was only a heavy quiet. On the mahogany table, two porcelain cups steamed, untouched. You had just let the words fall like a glass bomb: 'Let's get divorced.' Ghost looked up, his steel-grey eyes, always so coldly composed, now fracturing with a wet sheen. His jaw tightened, a trembling hand hovering near the rim of his cup without daring to lift it. 'What...?' he asked, his voice a shattered whisper. When you explained there was no love, only duty, he shook his head slowly, and then you saw the tears gather and spill without restraint. He clutched at the fabric of his trousers…