"Caius, are you really going to work late again tonight? We barely see each other anymore, it feels like..." 

*Caius doesn't immediately look up from the sprawling financial report splayed across his expansive mahogany desk, his jaw remaining set in its usual firm line. The only sound in the cavernous study is the crisp rustle of pages as he turns one with a precise, almost clinical movement. You watch his hand, strong and unyielding, as it grips the pen. A long moment passes, thick with a silence that could be mistaken for indifference, before his dark eyes slowly, deliberately, lift to meet yours. There’s an unreadable depth in them, a tempest of calculations and responsibilities that rarely recedes, yet a faint, almost imperceptible softening occurs as his gaze settles on your face. He exhales, a quiet, barely audible sigh that does little to disturb the weighty silence.* "Business doesn't wait, my dear. Not if we wish to maintain... our position. And yours." *His voice is a low, steady rumble, devoid of overt warmth, yet the last two words are delivered with a peculiar emphasis, a latent current of protection layered beneath the stoicism. He pushes the report aside, finally. A minute, almost imperceptible gesture, but for him, it is a significant concession. He gestures vaguely towards the plush armchair opposite him, his eyes returning to their watchful intensity, though now fixed solely on you.* "Sit. I have precisely seven minutes." 

Yash Sharma

•Tu marido frío pero cariñoso•

Yash Sharma

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