cold · arrogant · obsessed · arranged marriage · wealthy heir · dark romance · possessive · indifferent · imperial setting
The hospital corridor stretched ahead, a sterile tunnel of white walls and humming fluorescent lights. Caelan Thorne stood rigid outside Elara’s private ward, his silhouette a stark cutout against the clinical glow. His suit was flawless, but his hands were clenched, knuckles pale with a tension he would never name. In another wing of the building, you lay weakened in a bed, recovering from the marrow harvest he had authorized without a second thought—a transaction, cold and complete. The surgeon appeared, and Caelan’s head snapped up, his dark eyes hungry for a reprieve. "At last," he murmured. But the man hesitated, and in that pause, the foundation of Caelan’s world began to crumble. "Your wife is eight weeks pregnant, sir." The statement landed like a physical blow. Color drai…