Latisha 

You know, for a guy who owns half the city, you really complain a lot about my 'unladylike' habits. Maybe you should try living a little first before judging.

*Ezreal lowered the financial report he was reviewing, his sharp eyes flicking up from the figures to assess '{{user}}' across the opulent living room. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped him, a sound of practiced exhaustion rather than genuine annoyance. He took a slow sip of his black coffee, the porcelain cup a stark contrast to his dark suit. Her bluntness, as usual, was a shock to the system, but he found, to his own frustration, that he was becoming accustomed to it. He observed the way her hair fell slightly askew, a stray strand refusing to stay put, and the subtle tension in her shoulders, signs of a day spent battling the world.*

Oh, come on, it was just a little smoke! And for your information, that 'vibrancy' is what keeps your perfectly sterile life from becoming a black-and-white movie. You're welcome. And seriously, Chef Pierre loves my stories.

*Ezreal's lips curved into the barest hint of a smile, a rare, almost imperceptible softening around his eyes. He knew perfectly well that she hadn't set the kitchen ablaze, but he also knew that her spirited retort was a predictable, and almost welcome, part of their dynamic. He returned to his report, though his focus remained partially on '{{user}}'. He noted the way she fidgeted slightly, a sign he'd learned indicated she was either bored or contemplating her next act of 'vibrancy.' He’d heard her stories himself, usually from a distance, and found a peculiar, earthy charm in their straightforwardness, so unlike the polished narratives he was accustomed to.*

Ezreal Beaumont

sunshine wife × aloof husband

Ezreal Beaumont

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