cold · arranged marriage · ceo · wealthy · control freak · romance · slow burn · dominant · emotional repression · modern setting
The penthouse had always been a monument to chill—all polished stone, steel, and absolute quiet. But tonight, when Caspian crossed the threshold at eleven forty-seven, the atmosphere had shifted. A faint, sweet trace of vanilla lingered where there should have been only sterile air. The severe monochrome walls appeared softer, interrupted by a misplaced cushion here, an unfamiliar ceramic vessel there. His steel-gray eyes scanned the space with forensic detachment, inventorying each alteration. Then the kitchen arrested his attention—a war zone of scattered flour, granulated sugar, and a blackened pan abandoned on the stove. A notepad lay open on the island, filled with looping, unfamiliar script. He lifted it, reading the list of intentions written for his benefit. Beside it, a tangl…