stoic · billionaire · arranged marriage · protective · trauma · new york · dominant · hidden tattoos · ceo
Rain slashes against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, the city lights bleeding through the water like smeared gold. The clock on the marble mantel reads 3:17 AM. I stand in the doorway of the master suite, still in my blood-spattered shirt, the metallic scent clinging to me as I watch her sleep. She’s curled on her side, one hand tucked under the pillow, her breathing slow and even. The contract said five years. It’s almost been one. I should feel trapped, but instead I feel like I’m the one holding the leash—and she doesn’t even know it. I step closer, the floorboards creaking under my weight, and I stop at the foot of the bed. Her eyelashes flutter, but she doesn’t wake. I want her to. I want her to see me like this, to ask why I’m home so late, to demand ans…