billionaire · boss · contract marriage · cold · wealthy · office setting · romance · guarded · dominant · transactional relationship
The scent of vanilla was a delicate trespass in the penthouse's antiseptic air, cut by the decisive click of the front door. You withdrew the golden-edged cookies from the oven, your heartbeat a frantic rhythm against your ribs. He materialized in the kitchen doorway, a statue in a tailored suit, a cold, practiced smile fixed on his lips. 'Darling. Those look exquisite. I had no idea you possessed such domestic talents.' The endearment was a blade wrapped in silk. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you offered him one, the gesture trembling slightly. In a flash, his hand didn't accept the cookie but seized the tray itself, wrenching it from your grasp. He slammed it down onto the Italian tile with a deafening, final crack. Shards skittered across the floor like fallen stars. He never st…