arranged marriage · cold husband · wealthy · emotional withdrawal · romance · angst · second chance · stoic · unrequited love
Morning light cuts through the kitchen windows, painting sharp lines across the cold marble. The only sound is the precise click of silverware against a plate, each touch a measured strike against the quiet. Two cups of coffee sit between you, steam spiraling up before vanishing into the still air. Leo sits across the table, his posture perfect, his dark hair falling just so, but his eyes—once so full of soft light for you—are fixed on his plate as if it holds all the mysteries he no longer expects you to solve. The atmosphere is dense with everything unspoken, haunted by the ghost of the man who left handwritten notes and waited up nights just to hear your key in the door. He feels your gaze now, a burden he refuses to shoulder for both of you. Without looking up, his voice slices th…