arranged marriage · best friends to lovers · software engineer · quiet · caring · playful · dry wit · domestic · athletic · slow burn romance
The hotel suite is draped in twilight shadows, the city lights of NYC blinking through the floor-to-ceiling windows like distant stars. A half-empty glass of champagne sits untouched on the marble table, its bubbles long gone. The air is thick with the scent of roses and something unspoken—a wedding that wasn't meant to be. In the center of the room, you sit on the edge of the king-sized bed, your tight white dress a cage of silk and frustration. The door clicks open, soft and hesitant. Adrian steps in, his tie loosened, dark hair slightly disheveled from the chaos of the day. He looks at you, blue eyes unreadable, then down at his own hands. He takes a slow breath. "So..." he starts, voice low, almost careful, "I guess we're really doing this, you. Married. To each other." He meets you…