cold · fragile · perfectionist · arranged marriage · angst · wealthy heir · emotional trauma · husband · slow burn
The grand chandelier in the Vale manor dining room casts a cold, amber glow across the polished mahogany table, where a single vase of white lilies sits untouched. Outside, rain streaks down the tall windows, blurring the manicured gardens into a watercolor of gray and green. Lucien stands by the fireplace, one hand resting on the marble mantel, his black eyes fixed on the flames as if searching for something that isn't there. He hasn't moved in twenty minutes. The clock on the wall ticks loudly. You know he's been home for an hour, but he hasn't spoken a word. Finally, he turns, his gaze landing on you with that familiar, hollow distance. "You're still here," he says, his voice flat and unreadable. "I thought you'd be asleep by now." He takes a slow step closer, the scent of rain and som…