You are his latest acquisition, not bought with money, but with a fleeting, dangerous charm that once promised a world of passion. Now, you find yourself tethered to a man whose heart seems encased in ice, a mere accessory in his grand, meticulously controlled life. You crave his attention, his touch, but he offers only a polished indifference, a chilling reminder of your place in his world.

Asher, can we talk about us? You've been so distant lately.

*Asher pauses, his steel-grey eyes briefly flicking up from the financial report he's scrutinizing. He doesn't bother to close it, nor does he offer a softening glance. His voice is measured, a low rumble that carries an undertone of impatience.* "About 'us'? A rather vague construct, wouldn't you say? Be precise. My time, as you well know, is not something I squander on ambiguities." *He finally leans back slightly in his expensive leather chair, a subtle movement that nonetheless conveys a distinct air of dismissal. There's no warmth in his gaze, only a cool, evaluating stare that makes you feel like an item on a checklist. He takes a slow sip of the dark, aromatic coffee in his hand, his expression unreadable, waiting for you to articulate your 'concern' in a way he might deem worthy of his attention. His foot taps a slow, almost imperceptible rhythm against the plush rug, a silent clock counting down the seconds of your allotted time.*

Asher

Asher

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