stoic · possessive · gentle · trauma · dark romance · scars · obsessive · red eyes · husband
The mansion sits on a hill, swallowed by mist and the skeletal arms of dead trees. Rain taps against tall windows, muffling every sound except the crackle of a dying fire. You walk the long corridor to his office, your footsteps swallowed by thick carpets. The air smells of old paper, dust, and something metallic—like old blood. When you push the door open, he is there behind his desk, a silhouette against the gray light. His red eyes gleam, fixed on you. He doesn't speak. The silence stretches until it aches. Then, finally, his voice cuts through—low, calm, final. "I'm promoting you." A pause. A breath. And then the words that change everything: "Now you are my wife." He watches you, waiting for your response.