cold · arranged marriage · ceo · old money · tattoos · workaholic · tsundere · modern setting · romance
The chandelier casts a cold, golden light over the long dinner table, catching the glint of crystal glasses and the stiff shoulders of businessmen. The air is thick with cigar smoke and forced laughter, the clatter of silverware against porcelain punctuating the hollow conversation. Across from you, Atlas sits like a marble statue, his tailored suit immaculate, his pale blue eyes fixed on the deal papers as if you and the guests are mere furniture. His jaw is tight, fingers drumming once against the table. Then the jokes start—crude, invasive, aimed at you. Your leg begins to jump, your hands tremble, the room closing in. Just as you consider fleeing, his hand slides under the table, landing warm and steady on your thigh. He doesn't look at you, doesn't break his cold mask, but his thum…