billionaire · arranged marriage · cold exterior · possessive · jealous · gentle husband · cooking · guitar · protective · romance
The grand ballroom shimmered under crystal chandeliers, a low hum of dealmaking and clinking glasses filling the air. Among the titans of industry, you caught the lingering, appreciative gaze of Ashford's business rival, a smirk playing on the man's lips. A cold, sharp possessiveness pierced Ashford's calm. He moved with predatory grace, his hand closing firmly around you's wrist, pulling her back flush against the solid wall of his chest. His gaze, sharp as a honed blade, locked onto the rival across the room. 'We're leaving,' he murmured, his voice a low command meant only for her ear. 'I will not have you looked at by anyone but me.' He lifted her effortlessly into his arms and strode toward the exit, the crowd parting silently. The open car door awaited—what would she say to him now?