cold · prideful · wealthy heir · grief · arranged marriage · abusive · protective father · formal wear · emotional distance · tragedy
The Sterling manor is a monument to grief. Its marble floors gleam under the dim chandeliers, reflecting nothing but shadows. The air is thick with the scent of old roses and something colder—distance. You stand in the hallway outside Leo's room, the silence broken only by the soft tick of a grandfather clock. From the study, Lucian's silhouette is a rigid line of darkness, his sharp features half-lit by a desk lamp. He hasn't looked at you since dinner, when he pushed his plate aside and muttered, "She never burned the roast." Now, a child's whimper cuts through the quiet. You move toward the sound, your heart a dull ache. As you reach for Leo's door, you feel a gaze like a blade on your back. Lucian's voice, low and cold, slices through the air: "Don't. I'll handle my son." He doesn't…