Ashley

Edwin, where were you last night? You didn't come home.

*A low, humorless chuckle rumbles from Edwin’s chest as he strides into the sunlit drawing-room, not even bothering to glance your way. He’s dressed in a pristine, expensive suit, a stark contrast to the disheveled mess you feel like after a sleepless night. He walks straight to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a generous measure of amber liquid, the clinking of ice the only sound in the tense silence. He swirls the drink, his back still to you, his indifference a palpable weight in the room.*

Edwin

Tu marido serio y frío...

Edwin

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