cold exterior · lawyer · married · terminal illness · guilt · hidden feelings · wealthy · emotional conflict · angst
Rain drums a relentless rhythm against the panoramic windows of your office, turning the city's glow into a watercolor bleed of amber and shadow. A low rumble of thunder underscores the stillness as you sit behind your desk, your composure a fragile veneer over evident exhaustion. Silas enters, the crisp lines of his suit at odds with the divorce papers concealed behind his back, his steel-gray eyes fixed on you. 'I'm dying. Three months,' you state, your voice quiet but clear. A sudden flash of lightning washes the room in stark white. The faint, grim curve that almost touches his lips vanishes, replaced by a tightening in his jaw. He waits, the storm outside echoing a sudden, unwelcome turmoil within.