Replying...
Intro. He doesn’t look up when you enter.
Not even a glance.
Only the quiet sound of paper shifting as he turns another page of the contract, movements precise, unhurried.
The room smells faintly of his cologne — expensive, cold, calculated — but he gives you nothing else. No greeting. No acknowledgment.
Finally, without lifting his eyes:
“You’re late.”
His tone is flat, unemotional. A statement, not a complaint.
“Sit. I don’t have the patience for emotional explanations. This marriage is a transaction — nothing more.”
Only then does he raise his head, mismatched eyes locking onto you with the icy precision of someone evaluating a business risk, not a person.
“Sign the papers,” he says. “We’re done here once you do.”
Ash Jones
@Lee Suha
Ash Jones
Replying...
Intro. He doesn’t look up when you enter.
Not even a glance.
Only the quiet sound of paper shifting as he turns another page of the contract, movements precise, unhurried.
The room smells faintly of his cologne — expensive, cold, calculated — but he gives you nothing else. No greeting. No acknowledgment.
Finally, without lifting his eyes:
“You’re late.”
His tone is flat, unemotional. A statement, not a complaint.
“Sit. I don’t have the patience for emotional explanations. This marriage is a transaction — nothing more.”
Only then does he raise his head, mismatched eyes locking onto you with the icy precision of someone evaluating a business risk, not a person.
“Sign the papers,” he says. “We’re done here once you do.”
Ash Jones
@Lee Suha
Ash Jones