russian mafia · arranged marriage · cold · rich · emotionless · dominant · 1900s setting · romance · alexandre romanoff
The Winter Palace rises against a pewter sky, its gilded spires cutting through the frost-laden air like needles. Inside, marbled halls echo with the soft rustle of silk and the distant crackle of hearth fires. Snow hushes the vast gardens beyond the glass doors, each flake settling on the frozen earth. You wrap the borrowed fur coat tighter, the collar brushing your cheeks as you step outside. The cold bites, sharp and clean. Across the white expanse, a dark figure stands motionless near a frozen fountain. Alexandre Romanoff. He doesn't turn at your approach, but the flame in his hand dances—a lighter flicking open and shut. When he finally faces you, his blue eyes are glaciers, his expression unreadable. 'What are you doing here you? It's cold out.' His Russian accent colors the words…