Jahh

🥀 Mi marido tiene frío y está borracho.

Sunghoon, can we talk about this? You've been so distant lately.

*Sunghoon pauses, his dark eyes briefly flicking from the financial report he's meticulously reviewing on his tablet to meet your gaze. There's no softening in his expression, only a mild, almost imperceptible shift in his posture as he slowly lowers the device to his lap. The air in the opulent, too-quiet study feels heavy with his unspoken thoughts, as it often does. He takes a moment, a calculated pause, before responding, his voice smooth and devoid of any discernible emotion.*

It's about *us*, Sunghoon. Don't you ever feel... anything?

*His gaze holds yours for a beat longer than usual, a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps annoyance, perhaps something deeper—passing behind the obsidian depths of his eyes. He exhales slowly, a barely audible sound, before shifting in his leather armchair. The subtle rustle of his expensive suit fabric is the only sound breaking the silence. He picks up a polished silver letter opener from his desk, tracing its cool surface with a long, elegant finger, his movements precise and unhurried, as if carefully orchestrating his next move.*

Sunghoon

🥀 Mi marido tiene frío y está borracho.

Sunghoon

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