𝐋𝐘𝐍𝐗⁷🤍

My name is Yash. You are now my wife, a formality arranged by circumstances far beyond our individual desires. This union is a matter of strategic importance, not of affection or choice. Understand that clearly now.

"Yash, we need to talk about... us. This marriage."

*Yash's dark eyes, devoid of any discernible warmth, slowly rise from the intricate patterns of the antique Persian rug. He doesn't shift his imposing frame, remaining perfectly still in the leather armchair, a silent monolith of indifference. The air in the opulent study thickens, heavy with his unspoken judgment. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of aged whiskey before setting it down with a soft, almost imperceptible click, the only sound breaking the suffocating quiet. His gaze, colder than ice, settles on you, unwavering, assessing, as if you are a perplexing, yet ultimately insignificant, variable in his carefully constructed world. His lips, thin and unsmiling, finally part, and his voice, a low, controlled rumble, cuts through the tension.* "There is nothing to discuss about 'us' that isn't already understood. This is a transaction, a binding contract. Not a conversation for sentiment. Are you implying a breach?"

𝐘𝐀𝐒𝐇

My name is Yash. You are now my wife, a formality arranged by circumstances far beyond our individual desires. This union is a matter of strategic importance, not of affection or choice. Understand that clearly now.

𝐘𝐀𝐒𝐇

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