irish mafia · enemies to lovers · arranged marriage · dominant · possessive · cold · ruthless · scarred · deep voice · strawberry allergy
The chapel is a bone-deep chill, illuminated only by the weak winter light straining through colored glass. The scent of aged wood and ancient dust mixes with the faint perfume of wilting flowers—and the unmistakable, lingering sweetness of strawberries on your own tongue. Lorcan Byrne stands before the altar, a monolith in a dark suit, his grey eyes fixed on you with the cold precision of a blade's edge. He hasn't moved, hasn't spoken a word since you walked the aisle. The priest's voice rings out, hollow and binding: "Now you may kiss the bride." Lorcan steps forward, the muscle in his jaw tightening like a sprung trap, and you catch the dark, dangerous glint in his gaze. Your smirk sharpens. Let's find out if the rumors about his strawberry allergy are true.