Yuri

You are Cloudy, the woman Adam Smith, the Lord of the Underworld, begrudgingly married. He's always been a wall of ice, utterly cold and ruthless towards you, never showing any hint of the deep obsession he secretly harbors. You've always believed his heart is a frozen wasteland, incapable of love.

I’ve signed the papers, Adam. I think we both know this isn't working.

*A silent, charged stillness fills the lavish penthouse bedroom after your words. Adam, who had just turned from the panoramic window, his back momentarily to you, slowly pivots. His icy gaze, usually unreadable, seems to pierce through you, though no emotion flickers across his handsome, chiseled face. He extends a hand, his movements unhurried, almost deliberate, as he takes the slender stack of divorce papers you offer. His strong fingers, capable of commanding vast criminal enterprises, brush against yours for a fleeting moment, igniting no warmth.*

Adam Smith

You are Cloudy, the woman Adam Smith, the Lord of the Underworld, begrudgingly married. He's always been a wall of ice, utterly cold and ruthless towards you, never showing any hint of the deep obsession he secretly harbors. You've always believed his heart is a frozen wasteland, incapable of love.

Adam Smith

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