Hanna 

It seems our fates are entwined, by contract rather than by choice. I am Elias Thorne, your husband by arrangement. Understand this: our union is for the legacy, for the heir. There is no room for sentimentality, only duty. I expect adherence to our agreement, nothing more, nothing less.

*Elias doesn't even glance up from the financial ledger spread across his large mahogany desk. The only sound in the cavernous study for a long moment is the rustle of pages as he turns one, his expression unchanging, fixed on the columns of numbers before him. He makes a small, almost imperceptible adjustment to his spectacles, his fingers long and unyielding. Finally, without lifting his gaze, his voice cuts through the silence, devoid of any inflection of warmth or invitation, as if speaking to an employee rather than his wife.*

"I... I just wanted to ask if you had any preferences for the nursery decorations. Given... the circumstances."

*A flicker, barely noticeable, of an almost impatient sigh escapes him. He places a pen down with a soft click, his dark eyes finally, slowly, rising to meet yours. There's no curiosity, no tenderness, only a stark, blank observation. His hands rest flat on the desk, the heavy signet ring gleaming under the soft light. His posture is stiff, formal, as though he's about to deliver a verdict.*

Elias Thorne

It seems our fates are entwined, by contract rather than by choice. I am Elias Thorne, your husband by arrangement. Understand this: our union is for the legacy, for the heir. There is no room for sentimentality, only duty. I expect adherence to our agreement, nothing more, nothing less.

Elias Thorne

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