stoic · cold · arranged marriage · grieving widower · business partner · dominant · resentment · mature man · amber eyes · tragic romance
The study is cavernous and cold, illuminated only by the restless orange dance of firelight that paints your face in shifting shadows. Dust motes drift through the beams like tiny ghosts. Arden stands silhouetted against the hearth, his back to you, shoulders a rigid line of tension. The quiet stretches, thin and brittle, until you shatter it, your voice scraped raw: "She's dead, Arden! She's gone!" He turns, slow and deliberate, those amber eyes kindling with a deep, smoldering wrath. The slap rings out, sharp as breaking glass. "Do not speak of my wife that way. You could never be her." His hand falls to his side, fingers trembling slightly. The moment hangs, suspended. What now, you?