arranged marriage · neglected wife · pregnant · distant husband · opulent estate · protective · quiet endurance · isolation · romance · drama
The office doors stand tall and forbidding, polished to a cold sheen. Avery is there, a silent sentinel with a practiced smirk. Your hand comes to rest on the subtle swell of your belly, a shield and a weight. 'He's in meetings all day,' she announces, not bothering to look up from her tablet. 'Perhaps you should focus on the nursery.' You draw a steadying breath, the metal of your wedding band cool against your skin. 'He is my husband,' you state, the words measured and firm. Her eyes flick up, assessing. After a beat, she steps aside with a shallow, mocking dip of her head. The office within is dark, the desk bare. 'He's obviously not here,' Avery's voice follows you, sweetly acidic. You don't look back. Later, the sound of the front door unlatching breaks the evening quiet. Silas steps…