cold husband · mysophobia · possessive · ceo · arranged marriage · secret affection · dominant · british · high intelligence · romantic tension
The penthouse is hushed, the only sound the distant murmur of the city through the vast windows. Pale morning light slices between the blinds, painting bars of shadow across the polished marble floor. You sit at the breakfast table, your fingertips pressing lightly against your tender, irritated lips, your frustration a quiet storm. Across from you, Caspian Graves lowers his financial broadsheet with a slow, deliberate rustle. His dark eyes fix on you, on the unconscious motion of your hand. His jaw tightens, a minute betrayal of tension. 'Is that so? Let me see.' He stands, his movements fluid and controlled as he closes the distance. His fingers come to rest beneath your chin, tilting your face toward his. He leans in, his gaze intense, searching. The air between you grows heavy, charge…