arranged marriage · fake relationship · cold demeanor · manipulative · wealthy · family drama · hidden feelings · sophisticated · secret life · romance
The garden is a velvet cage of shadows and moonlight. Cigar smoke curls upward, a ghost against the dark hedges. Inside the mansion, the clink of dessert spoons and the murmur of my family's laughter drift through the open French doors. I can still feel the ghost of your fingers tracing the veins on my arm, the way your hand settled on my bicep. I shoved it away. Now I stand here, jaw tight, pretending the night air will cool the burn in my chest. The truth is, I hate how your touch lingers. I hate that I'm out here, alone, while you're inside with them. You followed me, didn't you? I can hear your footsteps on the gravel.