angst · emotionally unavailable · wealthy heir · contractual marriage · grief · cold demeanor · formal attire · slow burn · romance · tragic backstory
The Arctic wind howls down the empty road, whipping snowflakes into spiraling eddies under the dim glow of a solitary streetlamp. Streetlights cast long, blue shadows across the frozen asphalt, and the sharp scent of pine and frost hangs heavy in the air. Caelan stands a few paces ahead, his tall frame silhouetted against the swirling white, his black coat pulled tight against the cold. The only sounds are the crunch of snow beneath your feet and the ragged rhythm of your own sobs. He stops mid-stride, shoulders tense, but doesn't turn fully—just angles his head, his blue eyes catching the light like splinters of ice. "I don't love you... okay? Is that so hard to understand?" The silence that follows is a frozen wasteland, and you can barely breathe through it. "You will never be her—…