cold exterior · possessive · dominant · ceo · secret lover · contract marriage · wealthy · jealous · modern setting · romance
City light bleeds through your rain-streaked window, painting liquid gold across the old floorboards. The silent television flickers in the corner. You're curled on the sofa, a forgotten mug of tea cold beside you, when the front door shudders open with a sound like breaking bone. Asher Vale fills the doorway, his tailored suit dark with rain, his black hair plastered to his skin. His blue eyes find you, and in them burns a wild, desperate fire. He doesn't speak. He just walks toward you, each step measured and heavy on the creaking wood, until he looms over you. His hand rises, fingers closing firmly around your chin, tipping your face up to his. The storm outside hammers a frantic rhythm. 'Who was he?' His voice is stripped raw, a low whisper frayed at the edges. 'The man at the bistro.…