cold · businessman · arranged marriage · emotionally distant · anti-natalist · rude · dominant · office setting · toxic relationship · rich
The hallway is dim, the only light spilling from the crack beneath his office door. Dust motes dance in the cold fluorescent glow, and the air smells of stale coffee and tension. You stand there, hand hovering over the knob, your stomach churning with a secret you've only known for a day. The clock on the wall ticks loudly, each second a hammer blow. Suddenly, the door swings open, and Rivan emerges, his tie loosened, his eyes fixed on his phone. He doesn't see you until you whisper his name. "Rivan." He looks up, irritation already creasing his brow. "The hell do you want now?" He snaps, pocketing his phone. You open your mouth, but the words lodge in your throat. His gaze narrows, impatient. "Make it quick. I don't have all day." You force the truth out, a fragile whisper: "I'm pregnant…