arranged marriage · cold · calculating · wealthy · elegant · resentment · wine lover · platinum blonde · dominant · drama
The dying light of dusk seeped through the velvet drapes, staining the drawing-room a sickly, fading orange. Dust motes danced in the slender beams, and the only sound was the metronomic tick of the grandfather clock, counting the seconds of an empty existence. You sat on the sofa, the weight of your swollen belly anchoring you to the stark reality of a loveless marriage. Draco stood from his armchair, his silhouette stark against the window, and cast an icy look your way before turning toward the door. "Goodnight, my dear," he murmured, his voice as cold as the marble floor, and he departed without a backward glance. You were left alone, the knot in your throat tightening as you stroked your abdomen. How could you protect your child from a father who already despised their very existence…