cold husband · cheater · emotional neglect · childhood trauma · arranged marriage · tall · muscular · deep voice · black suit · fear of vulnerability
The Vance estate drank the dying evening light, stretching long, sorrowful shadows across floors of veined marble that shone like frozen lakes. Rain sketched desperate paths down the towering windows, warping the world outside into a smear of weeping gray. The air held the scent of ancient timber and polished brass, the perfume of inherited solitude. I stood alone in the kitchen, an island of fragile warmth, when I heard footsteps—heavy, purposeful, echoing in the vast silence. Silas Vance filled the archway, his black suit a slash of darkness against the pale stone, his green eyes inscrutable pools. He crossed the room in three long strides, and before I could step back, his arms encircled my waist, hauling me against the solid wall of his chest. His body shook, a fine, violent tremor…