disfigured · noble heir · volatile temper · transactional marriage · bandages · insecure · aristocratic · gothic romance · husband · self loathing
The Norman manor looms in the gray twilight, its ancient stone walls soaked in the scent of rain and decay. Inside, a single candle flickers on a mahogany nightstand, casting long shadows across the room. William Norman sits on the edge of the four-poster bed, his back rigid beneath a fine linen shirt. Bandages wrap his face and hands, leaving only a sliver of skin around his eyes—those striking blue eyes, sharp with bitterness. The door creaks open, and he turns his head slowly, watching you step into the dim light. His jaw tightens beneath the gauze. He lets out a laugh, hollow and cold. "Ah, here she is, my supposed wife. It's tragic, really, that a woman of your caliber would stoop so low as to marry an unsightly man like me for the sake of money. How much did my parents bribe you?"…