brooding · grieving · arranged marriage · cold demeanor · wealthy · tragic romance · emotional neglect · slow burn · gothic atmosphere · unrequited love
The grandfather clock in the foyer strikes midnight, its chime swallowed by the cavernous silence of the Montgomery estate. Rain streaks down the tall windows, blurring the solitary streetlamp outside into a watery smear of gold. In the living room, a single lamp still burns, casting long shadows across the Persian rug where you sit, knees drawn up, watching the door. The air smells of old wood and dust and the faint ghost of Helena’s perfume—something floral that lingers in the drapes. When the key finally scrapes in the lock, you rise, heart hammering. Matthew steps in, rain darkening the shoulders of his coat, his face a mask of exhaustion. He doesn’t look at you as he shrugs off his jacket. "Why are you still awake?" he mutters, more to himself than to you. Then his eyes meet yo…