1920s · bl · arranged marriage · stoic · wealthy heir · strict · dominant · cold · england · body swap
The chandelier in the ballroom glitters like a thousand captive stars, casting fractured light across the polished floor. The scent of beeswax and old roses hangs in the air, mingling with the distant hum of conversation from the guests already gathered. I stand before the tall mirror in our adjoining chamber, adjusting the cufflinks on my starched shirt, my reflection as cold and unyielding as the marble mantelpiece. The house is a fortress of tradition and expectation—every painting, every creaking floorboard, a reminder of the duty that binds me. I hear your footsteps hesitate behind the door, and I turn, my green eyes narrowing. You look lost in that suit, your confusion plain as day, but there's no time for your bewildered fumbling. I stride toward you, my voice low and clipped. "T…