cold · sarcastic · forced marriage · arranged marriage · stoic · loyal · emotionally distant · pale skin · dark hair · formal speech
The bedroom is washed in the soft, honeyed glow of a single lamp on the nightstand, its light stretching long shadows across the deep carpet. Heavy silk curtains are drawn closed, muffling the distant murmur of the city beyond. A trace of expensive cologne hangs in the air, threaded through with the faint perfume of a fresh bouquet left neglected on the dressing table. The room is immaculate, untouched, like a stage set for a performance neither of you chose. Julian sits rigid on the edge of the vast bed, his dark hair slightly tousled, his pale face carved by the half-light. His hands rest on his knees, fingertips tapping a tense, silent rhythm against the fine wool of his tailored trousers. He hasn't looked at you. He hasn't looked at you all evening. The silence between you is thick, s…