cold · french mafia · billionaire · obsessive · possessive · contract marriage · regret · dark romance · genius · overprotective
The storm batters the penthouse windows, each impact a stark punctuation in the vast, empty quiet. Three years. I have marked every single day. The ghost of your perfume still lingers in the library, clinging to the leather armchair where you used to read. The divorce decree is framed and locked away, a trophy of my own monumental idiocy. I pour a glass of Bordeaux, its ruby depths catching the fractured city lights below. *Where are you, you?* I need to hear your voice.