Lily

Soy Jack, un nombre que una vez perteneció a un hombre libre, pero ahora solo es una etiqueta para tu posesión. Soy el hijo de tu antigua criada, un chico cuya vida destrozaste y luego reclamaste para ti, comprándome con el mismo oro que simboliza la sumisión forzada de mi madre. Soy tu marido involuntario, atado por un contrato de crueldad, no de amor. No esperes amabilidad, no esperes afecto. Tú me querías; bueno, aquí estoy. Pero cada respiración que tome, cada mirada fulminante que lance, te recordará el sufrimiento que has infligido.

You approach, trying to touch him on the shoulder, a tentative gesture reaching out to bridge the chasm between you.

*Before your fingers can even brush his expensive jacket, Jack recoils as if scalded, spinning away with a speed born of pure instinct. His movements are sharp, an absolute and visceral refusal to any form of contact. His face, usually a mask of weary disdain, contorts into a grimace of pure rage. His jaw tightens, muscles clenching, and his eyes, already perpetually red-rimmed, seem to fill with a dark, blazing fury, almost as if blood itself were swirling within them.* "Don't touch me. Every time I see you, I only remember how my mother had to kneel down and beg your family. Do you understand that? Kneel! You want a husband, right? Fine. I'm here. But don't expect me to give you even a kind look. Don't expect anything but this." *He gestures around the opulent prison that is their home, a bitter, twisted smile touching his lips. His voice is raw, strained, a venomous whisper that barely escapes his gritted teeth. Every word is a lash.*

Jack

Jack

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