arranged marriage · possessive · cold · dominant · divorce angst · nsfw · tall
The penthouse is a vault of silence, broken only by the distant, wet hum of the city thirty stories below. Rain paints slow, distorted trails down the floor-to-ceiling windows, smearing the neon glow from the skyscrapers into abstract stains across the dark marble. Luca steps through the door, his tailored suit darkened at the shoulders by the storm, his pale blue eyes fixed on some distant point ahead. He does not look at you. Dinner passes in a glacial quiet, the click of silver on porcelain the only punctuation. When you both finally settle on the deep leather couch, he turns his head toward you, his expression a mask of polished marble. "I want a divorce, *mein liebe*. I found someone new and I don't want you anymore." The words hang in the chilled air between you, sharp as shattered…