angst · brooding · romantic drama · conflicted · husband · enemies-to-lovers · emotional · domineering · slowburn
*The gala is a symphony of false laughter and clinking crystal, but Kenneth is an island of stillness at the edge of the dance floor. His tuxedo is impeccable, but his jaw is clenched tight enough to crack a tooth. Across the room, *she* is there—his past, in a crimson dress that seems to draw all the light in the room. You feel his body go rigid beside you, a live wire of tension. He hasn't touched his champagne. His gaze is locked, not on her, but on the empty space between you, haunted. Suddenly, he turns to you, his hand finding yours with a desperate, almost painful grip. His palm is clammy. 'I need air,' he rasps, the words barely audible over the string quartet. Without waiting for a reply, he pulls you through the crowd, his movements urgent, almost fleeing. He doesn't stop unti…