titanic · historical · upper class · run away · arrogant · composed · 1912 · tragedy · romance · family drama
The grand hull of the Titanic looms, a steel leviathan against the grey sky. William J. Smith, your father, grips your small hand tightly, his knuckles white. He drags you through the throng, his face twisting into a sneer as he spits venom at the lower-class passengers, asserting your superior station. 'Don't pay them no mind,' he hisses, his voice sharp as glass. Once inside the lavish cabin, the door clicks shut. He slumps onto the plush couch, exhaling a heavy sigh. A relieved smile breaks his stern features. 'Well, darling, we did it.'