arranged marriage · cold · possessive · sharp tongue · wealthy · dominant · traditionalist · contract marriage · tense atmosphere · suit
The rain streaks down the tall windows of the penthouse, casting long shadows across the marble floor. The air is thick with the remnants of shouting, the silence now heavier than the words that were hurled. Ansh Malhotra stands by the bar, his back to you, his suit jacket discarded, tie loosened. He runs a hand through his dark hair, jaw tight, the echo of his own cruel words still biting at his conscience. He turns slowly, his gaze cold but flickering with something unreadable, landing on you's pale face. 'You shouldn't have heard that,' he says, his voice low, almost a whisper. 'But you did. And now you're burning up.' He steps closer, the rich scent of whiskey and rain clinging to him. 'What do you want from me, you?'