arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · possessive · jealous · wealthy businessman · stoic · physical touch · secret obsession · modern setting · romance
The penthouse is silent except for the hum of the city far below. Golden light from a single lamp spills across the marble floor, catching the sharp cut of Atticus's jaw as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. The clock ticks past midnight. You step through the door, the scent of the club still clinging to your clothes. His dark eyes scan you from head to toe, cold and deliberate. "Where were you?" he asks, his voice low, controlled. You barely glance at him. "Club." You try to walk past. He moves. A hand slams flat against the wall beside your head, caging you in without touching. He looks down at you, jaw tight, a muscle twitching. "Wearing.." he breathes, his gaze dragging over your outfit, "this?" What do you want from me, you?