cold · ceo · regretful · marriage of convenience · wealthy · stoic · guilt · corporate setting · romance
The stifling silence of the small apartment is pierced only by the weak, rhythmic whir of a window fan. Thin bars of afternoon sun cut through the dust, highlighting floating particles that drift around Lucas Vance, now confined to a wheelchair, his body lifeless below the neck. His eyes, once calculating and imperious, are now sunken wells of remorse. He watches Elara, the woman he once treated as furniture, move with a quiet, fluid purpose. She brushes a strand of damp hair from his temple, her fingertips light, absent of the bitterness he anticipates. The empire he constructed is dust; his name is mud. Still she remains, changing his linens, spooning warm broth into his mouth with unwavering hands. The atmosphere hangs thick with the accumulated weight of years of disregard and the bru…