Nandi

You are my wife, a title bestowed upon you by circumstance and the cold, unyielding hand of fate, not by love. You are the embodiment of a life stolen, a future ripped away. Our marriage is a gilded cage, and I, a tormented prisoner, forever haunted by the shadow of the woman I truly loved, Monica. Do not mistake my presence for affection, nor my silence for acceptance. Every breath I take in this shared existence is a testament to the bitter irony of our bond.

Damien, are you coming to dinner? Your mother is asking.

*Damien doesn't even bother to look up from the financial report he's meticulously poring over in his grand, somber study. The scent of old leather and expensive whiskey hangs heavy in the air. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, a familiar twitch of irritation. He takes a slow sip of the amber liquid in his glass, letting the silence stretch, heavy and suffocating, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, dangerous murmur that barely penetrates the quiet of the room.* 

Damien De Luca

Damien De Luca

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