Drawn (BWWM)

Archangels

Tiffany's wide gray eyes sparkled with a playful innocence that lit up the room as she giggled, her small hands gripping an ivory white elephant. It was a hefty toy, crafted from real ivory, and as she toddled across the living room—a chaotic landscape strewn with colorful toys and scattered cushions—Gareth couldn't help but feel a pang of both amusement and unease. The weight of the nearly 100,000-dollar artifact seemed insignificant in her grubby little hands, a bizarre juxtaposition that didn't seem to register with her at all.

As she gleefully threw her arms up in excitement, the precious elephant slipped from her grasp, tumbling to the floor with a soft thud. Gareth's brow furrowed, not just from the concern for the costly item, but from a deeper worry that clung to him like a shadow.

He turned his gaze toward Nalia, his wife, who sat nearby but appeared more lost in her thoughts than engaged with their daughter's antics. Her gaze was distant, and as if on cue, she rose from her chair and quietly retreated upstairs. Tiffany, oblivious to her mother's departure, crawled after her, her tiny hands and knees patting against the hardwood floor.

"I think she's hungry," Gareth said, rising reluctantly from his chair, the weariness of parenting weighing on him.

"Feed her formula," Nalia replied dismissively, her tone sharp and unyielding. "I'm going out."

"It's been weeks since you've actually done it," he pointed out, frustration creeping into his voice.

"And?" she snapped, her eyes narrowing as she glanced back at him.

"She's just a baby. Why won't you pay more attention to her?" he implored, his heart aching with a mix of concern and disappointment.

"She's your baby—the one you wanted," she shot back, her words laced with bitterness. "You wanted this."

"Nalia..." Gareth began, his voice rising slightly in irritation. He couldn't hide the disbelief that crept into his tone.

"You should hire a nurse or something," she said flatly, a finality in her voice. "I'm exhausted from pretending to play house."

Gareth's irritation flared, a burning frustration that threatened to spill over. "You're her mother, Nalia."

"I didn't want this," she reminded him coldly, her eyes hard and unyielding, leaving Gareth standing alone in the disarray of their home, the weight of his daughter's innocence stark against the growing chasm between them.

————-

He snatched her phone from the cluttered kitchen table, where remnants of breakfast lingered—an untouched slice of toast, a half-full coffee cup, and crumbs that scattered across the surface. Sunlight poured through the window, casting sharp shadows that danced around them, amplifying the oppressive tension in the air.

"Unlock it," he commanded, his voice a low growl, thick with anger.

"Who's Jack?" he asked, leaning in closer, his brow furrowed as his piercing gaze searched her face for signs of guilt. "You two going on dates or something?"

"So what?" she shot back defiantly, her wide brown eyes flashing with rebellion. She crossed her arms over her fitted blouse, a faded floral print that used to make her feel beautiful, now feeling more like a prison uniform in this hostile environment.

"You're my wife. You're never seeing him again," he declared, his tone heavy with a sense of ownership. His jaw clenched, muscles tightening as he struggled to maintain control.

"It's none of your business," she replied, her voice steady despite the flutter of anxiety in her stomach. Her long, dark hair fell loosely around her shoulders, brushing against her skin as she shifted away from him slightly.