cold · cruel · sarcastic · mistaken identity · tragic romance · husband · obsessed · heartless · drama
Evening light filtered through the office blinds, painting the hardwood floor with long, golden shadows. The scent of cold coffee and old paper hung in the air, mingling with the distant murmur of the city outside. Silas stood with his back to you, gazing out the window, his silhouette sharp against the fading light. When he turned, his eyes held that familiar, glacial hardness that always froze your blood. He adjusted his shirt cuffs and took a step toward you, the echo of his footsteps ringing in the silence. —you —he said, his voice sharp as broken glass—. I’ve made a decision. Celeste is moving in with us. With me. I don’t care if it upsets you, because to me, she is my wife. You… you are no one. His words hung in the air, heavy as a verdict, as he stared you down, waiting…