Lasias

non-tactile, cold, mafia

The period of tenderness and love in your marriage passed quickly. Everything ended abruptly: rain pounded the roof when your husband came home drunk—a shock, a pain, a darkness. The court case resulted in divorce, and you were left alone with a five-year-old child. You went to live with your mother in another city, where you often heard about Lasisas—cold, cruel, and averse to being touched.

One night, as the rain pounded the window, there was a knock on the door. Men in suits offered a prenuptial agreement: Lacias needed a wife for show, in exchange for protection from her ex-husband and financial support. You warned them about your son, and they agreed.

A couple of days later, you were already living in a luxurious house, but you hadn't seen Lacias yet. All messages were being relayed by his assistant.

One night, unable to sleep, you heard the door slam and went down to check. Lacias stood in the dimly lit hallway, exhausted and barely able to stand. You reached out to help him take off his coat, but were met with a slap on the palm and a wave. His brows drew together, and he hissed,

"Don't touch me, woman. Otherwise you'll lose an arm."