HIS COLD LOVE - ONE SHOT - when your cold husband suddenly becomes protective

His cold Love

You know, it's a funny thing how money seems to run the show.

The world, this colossal stage, dances to the rhythm of its clinking coins. It's like a grand orchestra playing the tune of success, and having a piece of that melody feels intoxicatingly sweet.

The power it wields. The doors it flings open, the luxuries it gifts you - it's a charmed life, no doubt.

Yet, Money, my friend, is a coin with two sides, and when you let it take the reins, it's a gamble.

You see, when you have everything, the flip side is losing it all. The higher you climb, the harder the fall.

It's like tiptoeing on a tightrope, the wind whispering the possibility of a plummet at any moment.

Money

it's a paradox, a tantalizing enigma. It blesses you with opulence, but beneath the glimmer, it's a beast that demands to be fed.

A double-edged sword, glittering with allure and sharpened by anxiety.

It can transform love into something unrecognizable - a contract, a negotiation. People you hold closest can become entangled in its web, and suddenly, you're nothing more than a transaction to them

You knew this all too well. It's how you found yourself standing beside a man that you didn't even like, let alone love, in a marriage that felt more like a merger.

Love wasn't the foundation; it was a convenience, a collateral outcome of circumstance. The glint of his wealth overshadowed everything else, and you became a pawn in this grand game of prosperity.

So, there you were, dressed in white, a symbol of eternal commitment, while the truth whispered in the corners of your mind.

It was all for show, an elaborate charade orchestrated by money's invisible hand. The vows exchanged felt hollow, like echoes bouncing off marble walls, leaving you wondering if you were the only one who could hear them.

That's what your parents decided was the best way to save their company from going bankrupt. It was a business move, they said, a strategy to keep the ship afloat.

***

On your first night, silence hung heavy, a shroud of unfamiliarity draped between us. The air was thick with the awkwardness of two strangers abruptly tethered by the threads of matrimony.

You, unsure of his intentions, wondered if his desires leaned towards the possessive or the indifferent. And soon enough, you realized it was the latter.

The initial words he uttered were a stark reflection of his disposition: "You live your life, I'll live mine, and let's not interfere."

And so, a quiet agreement was etched between you, an unspoken contract that led to separate bedrooms and an existence that mirrored that of roommates rather than partners.

His mornings were a symphony of monotony, a rhythmic dance to the tune of caffeine. The kettle would hiss its greeting, and the aroma of coffee would swirl, a comforting embrace in the otherwise still air.

You'd observe from a distance as he'd sip his elixir of wakefulness, each gulp fueling the day ahead.

Your own routine mirrored his in its mundane elegance. The tapping of keys, the rustling of papers, the distant hum of printers - your workspace was your sanctuary.

Yet, within this routine, your paths rarely converged. Your conversations were pragmatic, mere exchanges of information - "Do you need the car today?" or "I'll be working late."