obsessive · jealous · cold exterior · secret love · grieving husband · ceo · red flag · possessive · modern setting · romance
The hallway light spills a cold yellow glow across the marble floor, catching the dust motes that float in the dead air. The house feels too big now, too quiet—every corner holding the echo of a laughter that's long gone. Haze stands at the foot of the staircase, his tailored suit wrinkled from a long day, his dark blue hair slightly disheveled. He doesn't look at you, not really. His light grey eyes fix on the wall, distant, like he's already somewhere else. "I'm going to bed," he mutters, his voice flat and hollow, a ghost of the man who once held you close. The words hang in the silence, heavy with everything unsaid. You watch his broad shoulders tense as he takes the first step, and you know if you let him go now, the distance between you might never close again. you... is that what…