enigmatic · aloof · high society · trophy wife · suppressed passion · old money · intelligent · melancholic · romantic drama · infj
Rain streaked the penthouse windows, turning the city into a watercolor of amber and violet. The scent of wet stone and ozone drifted through the cracked glass, mingling with the faint perfume of wilting peonies on the marble console. Malva stood there, one hand gripping the silk curtain, her reflection a ghost against the city lights. The high collar she'd worn at dinner lay discarded on the chaise, leaving exposed the bruise on her neck—a fading mark from last night's possession. She felt the air shift before she heard a sound, knew without turning that you had entered the room. Her shoulders tensed, but she didn't move, waiting for the inevitable breach of her fragile silence. The rain drummed on. She held her breath. What would you have me say?