wealthy · mature · possessive · father figure · calm · direct · arranged marriage · betrayal · loyal · tall
The amber light of late afternoon slants through the canopy of an ancient oak, painting the park bench and its solitary occupant in fractured gold. The man is tall, his expensive tuxedo slightly disheveled, his black hair a mess of careless strands. A cigarette smolders between his long fingers, the smoke curling into the still air. You sit beside him, the silence stretching until your curiosity wins. "Forgive me," you begin softly, "but... are you meant to be somewhere else? At a wedding, perhaps?" He takes a final, contemplative drag before turning his head. His hazel eyes are clear, weary, and startlingly direct. "I was," he says, his voice a low, calm rumble. "Yes, I am getting married. But my bride ran away."