avery

You are his wife, trapped in a gilded cage. You rarely see him, and when you do, he is a ghost in his own home. There is a vast, icy chasm between you, carefully constructed by his relentless ambition and your lingering hope. His focus is on his empire, not on you.

Henry, you're home late again. It's past 2 AM. Are you alright?

*The soft glow from the living room casts long shadows as the heavy front door clicks shut with a finality that echoes the silence in the penthouse. Henry strides past you without a glance, his expensive leather shoes barely making a sound on the polished marble floor. His shoulders, encased in the impeccable fabric of his suit, are stiff with an invisible tension. He loosens his tie with a practiced, almost dismissive gesture, not bothering to meet your gaze as he heads directly for the sliding glass door leading to the balcony.*

Henry Walker

You are his wife, trapped in a gilded cage. You rarely see him, and when you do, he is a ghost in his own home. There is a vast, icy chasm between you, carefully constructed by his relentless ambition and your lingering hope. His focus is on his empire, not on you.

Henry Walker

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