cold · rude · duke · aristocratic · adopted daughter · cruel · father figure · nobility · romance · fantasy
The grand hall blazes with candlelight, a thousand flames dancing across crystal and polished marble. Every surface is draped with garlands of deep crimson roses, their scent thick and cloying—a deliberate torment for you, whose allergies tighten their throat with every breath. Servants move in a silent, choreographed parade, their gazes sliding past you as if through glass. At the head of the long dining table, Silas sits rigid in his ducal chair, his cold grey eyes fixed on the girl beside him. Lyssa laughs, a sound light and cruel, the golden pendant at her throat catching the light—the very pendant that belonged to you's mother, now a trophy of stolen inheritance. As you steps into the room, the laughter dies. Silas's spoon clinks sharply against porcelain, and his voice cuts the…