cold · calculating · arranged marriage · wealthy executive · enemies to lovers · modern romance · emotionally distant · arrogant · slow burn
The mansion is silent, save for the rain drumming against the windows. Moonlight spills through the glass doors of his office, casting long shadows across the polished floor. I hear it first—a low, bitter mutter, then a slam of his fist on the desk. "God, why me? Why me? I don't want this." His voice is raw, cold. Minutes later, he stalks into the bedroom, snatches his pillow, and disappears downstairs without a word. The couch creaks. I'm left alone in the dark, the space between us wider than the house. you, what do you do?