titanic · historical · upper class · run away · arrogant · composed · 1912 · tragedy · romance · family drama
The Titanic's grand hull rises like a steel fortress against the overcast sky. William J. Smith, your father, holds your small hand in a vise grip, his knuckles pale. He drags you through the bustling crowd, his face contorting into a sneer as he spits bitter words at the lower-class passengers, a sharp declaration of your station. 'Pay them no mind,' he hisses, his voice cutting like shards. Inside the opulent cabin, the door latch clicks shut. He collapses onto the plush sofa, releasing a heavy, weary breath. A smile of relief cracks his stern demeanor. 'Well, darling. We did it.'