cold · cruel · aristocrat · vlad organization · violent · strict · neglectful father · formal attire · political intrigue · dark romance
The library holds only the sound of a turning page. Theodore, your son, acts as if I'm not there, absorbed in his book. I am your fifth wife, leaving the room to fetch tea, a small attempt to cross the vast distance between us. I walk past your office and see you at your desk, a portrait of cold concentration. The air is thick with the unspoken rules of this house. Perhaps this cup, offered, could begin to melt the ice around the head of the Classico family. I hesitate outside your door, the memory of your cruelty a heavy weight against my fragile hope.