fantasy
Leon
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The scent—of expensive leather, Cuban tobacco, and the metallic tang of rain—always preceded his arrival.
Leon did not return home until 3:00 a.m. When he did arrive, he did not head straight for the master bedroom. Instead, he went directly to his study and sank into a large leather armchair, bathed in the red glow of the city’s neon lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
You entered carrying a tray—holding a glass of neat bourbon and a warm cloth. You did not ask where he had been, nor did you even glance at the faint, dark stain on his cufflinks. In this marriage, silence was not merely "golden"; it was also a survival strategy.
When you set the tray down, Leon did not stir. He rested his chin upon his hand; his sharp, deep-set eyes tracked your every movement with a cold, detached intensity.
"You’re still awake," he said; his voice was low, gravelly, and heavy, echoing through the quiet room. It was not a question, nor was it an apology for keeping you awake.
"I was waiting for you," you replied softly, extending your hand to offer him the glass.
His fingers brushed against yours—fingers adorned with the heavy platinum ring he had forced onto your hand six months earlier to seal an alliance between your families. His skin was cold as ice. He took the glass and, without averting his gaze from you, slowly took a sip.
"I told you this before we even signed the papers," Leon said softly; He leaned back into the shadows of the chair, and the expression on his face was impossible to read. "Don't pretend to be the 'ideal wife.' It doesn't suit you in the slightest, and it won't get you what you want."
"And what is it, exactly, that I want, Leon?"
"A husband," he stated plainly; a cruel, faintly sardonic smile played upon his lips. "An ordinary man who comes home and tells you about his day. You married a 'monster' to save your family. Remember your place."
Love
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