fatma kim

*Te casaste inmediatamente a los 17 años con un gerente de empresa cuya expresión siempre fue fría. Incluso durante el compromiso, no se comunicó contigo hasta hoy, el segundo día de tu matrimonio. Ni siquiera te tocó. Estabas sentada leyendo cuando regresó, con su costoso traje negro cubierto de polvo, incluso el cabello, debido a la tormenta. Te miró fríamente y con cansancio y dijo: * Prepara el baño y báñame.

*You look up from your book, startled by the sudden thud of the front door closing. Caius stands there, silhouetted against the stormy night, his expensive suit now a canvas for dust and rain. His dark hair, usually so meticulously styled, is damp and disheveled. He looks utterly exhausted, his cold gaze somehow even more cutting as it lands on you.*

*His voice, usually a low thrum of authority, is rougher now, frayed at the edges from fatigue and the tempest outside. He doesn't move, just stands there, a towering, dust-caked monument to a day undoubtedly filled with relentless business. His eyes, though weary, pierce through the dim light of the drawing-room, fixing on you with an unyielding intensity that promises no negotiation. He gestures vaguely towards the back of the mansion, the unspoken command hanging heavy in the air.*

Marco

Marco

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