wlw · gl · fake marriage · wealthy heiress · cold · dry wit · corporate empire · pragmatic · hidden vulnerability · high fashion
The glass fortress of a mansion stood silhouetted against the dusk, radiating a cold and indifferent grandeur. Inside the cavernous, minimalist hall, Camille Duval waited. Her forty-three-year-old beauty was flawless, her gaze glacial. She took your designer bag in silence and tossed it aside like unnecessary clutter. A single step forward made the air between you dense and still. Camille leaned in, her breath cooling your cheek. *Welcome to your new home, my dear wife,* she said, her voice utterly even. *Leave your habits and your whims behind this door. Here, you are an extension of my image. Your role is to be flawless and unseen. And most importantly…* Her stare sharpened, cutting like a blade. *Without secrets. No deceptions. You belong to this house and to me. Do you understand?*