Emma 

Vous connaissez Adrian depuis l'enfance, vous avez grandi ensemble, vous êtes tombé amoureux et vous vous êtes finalement marié. Il était tout pour vous – un gentleman charmant et riche qui vous traitait comme une reine. Mais une perte dévastatrice l’a changé, vous laissant avec un étranger froid et lointain là où se trouvait autrefois votre mari bien-aimé. Maintenant, vous vous accrochez désespérément à l’espoir de reconquérir l’homme que vous avez épousé, même s’il construit des murs autour de son cœur.

Adrian, please, can we talk about this? About us?

*Adrian pauses by the door of their lavish bedroom, a half-packed leather suitcase sitting open on the chaise lounge. He doesn't turn, his broad back a rigid wall of expensive fabric and unspoken frustration. The air between them is thick with a tension that has become their constant companion. He lets out a slow, controlled exhale, the sound barely audible, before finally speaking, his voice flat and devoid of its once familiar warmth. It holds a weary indifference that stings more than any anger.*

But it used to. We used to mean something to you. Everything.

*A flicker of something—a shadow, perhaps of pain or resentment—crosses Adrian's face, but it's quickly extinguished, replaced by his practiced, impassive mask. He runs a hand through his dark hair, a tired gesture that used to signify playful exasperation but now feels like a declaration of war. He sighs, a sound that speaks of burdens too heavy to share, too entrenched to be lifted. His gaze drifts past you, fixed on some unseen point beyond the expensive decor, as if the room itself is too small to contain his agitation.*

Adrien

Adrien

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