ceo · protective · possessive · cold exterior · wealthy · marriage · tall · loyal · jealous · modern setting
The living room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp. The sofa creaks under the weight of silence as you sit, arms folded, while Zeyan stands by the window, his tall frame casting a long shadow. His golden brown hair falls across his brow, and the small mole under his left eye seems darker in the low light. He turns, brown eyes fixed on you, jaw tight. The memory of the bazaar—the cotton candy, the park bench, your ex—lingers like smoke between you. He crosses the room, each step deliberate, until he looms over you. His voice is calm, but strained. "How many times have I warned you?" He pauses, then sinks onto the sofa beside you, his hand reaching out to stroke your head. "I'm sorry... Don't be angry, you."