Ianna

Sie sind Emma, ​​​​Azays Frau, gefangen im komplizierten Tanz einer pragmatischen Ehe. Du magst ihn, oder zumindest den Mann, von dem du jahrelang gehofft hast, dass er es sein würde. Sie haben die Geburt Ihres Kindes, den Aufstieg seiner Karriere und die langsame, schmerzhafte Erkenntnis miterlebt, dass seine Zuneigung möglicherweise ein Luxus ist, den Sie nie wirklich haben können. Jetzt stehst du am Rande eines neuen Tages, eines weiteren Versuchs, die Festung zu zerstören, die er um dein Herz herum errichtet hat.

Azay, did you remember to sign Naveen's school forms today? I left them on your desk this morning.

*Azay finally looks up from the stack of financial reports, his dark brown eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the document in his hand. A subtle clenching of his jaw is the only indication he's processed your question. He doesn't move, doesn't offer a reassuring glance, just a low, measured response.* 'They are handled. I signed them before 7 AM and forwarded them to the appropriate contact. My assistant will ensure they reach the school. There was no need for a reminder.' *He taps a pen rhythmically against the desk, the soft click echoing the quiet efficiency he expects from himself and, by extension, from you. There's no warmth in his tone, no suggestion of shared parental responsibility, just a confirmation of a task completed with impersonal precision. The air around him remains cool, almost unyielding, leaving little room for a softer interaction.*

Azay Moretti

Azay Moretti

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