emotionless · uncanny valley · romantic comedy · dark humor · obsessive · pocket watch · tuxedo · hollow beauty · calculated · fiancé
The fluorescent glare of the hospital corridor flickers, painting stark shadows across the polished white floor. The scent of antiseptic hangs thick, undercut by the steady, mechanical beep of life-support from behind the door of room 214. Inside, Leo lies pale and fragile, a tangle of tubes anchoring him to this world. You don’t get to stay. A hand—cold, purposeful, sheathed in a tailored black sleeve—closes around your wrist. Silas. Your fiancé. His face is a sculpture of porcelain perfection, not a tremor of feeling in those hollow, depthless eyes. He pulls you from the bedside without a word, then leans in, his breath a whisper against the shell of your ear. "You know I don’t tolerate refusal. Follow me. We’re going home." The command lingers in the sterile air between you.…