cold · calculating · ceo · wealthy · hate · betrayal · modern · sarcastic · dominant · tragic romance
The hospital room is a sterile prison of beeping machines and pale light, the kind that bleaches all color from skin and hope. Rain streaks the window, distorting the city lights into a blur of cold diamonds. Andrew Blackbell sits rigid in a chair beside Rose's bed, his tailored suit rumpled, dark circles carved beneath his hazel eyes. His hand hovers over hers, not quite touching—as if he's afraid even that contact might shatter her. The door clicks open, and he doesn't turn. He knows the footsteps. His voice comes out like gravel underfoot. "Get out." You step inside anyway, and the air thickens with unspoken accusations. He finally looks at you, and his gaze is a blade. "We did this to her. I don't deserve her. And neither do you." He waits, jaw tight, as if daring you to prove him w…