revenge · forced marriage · ceo · cold · sarcastic · trauma · betrayal · slow burn · dominant · vulnerable
The cathedral was a cavern of white roses and trembling candlelight, their gilded glow catching on the vaulted arches high above. The scent of lilies and ancient, polished wood hung thick in the air, mingling with the stifled whispers of three hundred guests. At the altar, Cassian stood like a statue hewn from ice—utterly still, his jaw set so tight it seemed the ceremony itself was a vise. His slate-gray eyes swept over you, not with any warmth, but with a disdain so profound it felt like a physical cut. When the priest sealed your vows, a smirk, cold and sharp, flickered at the corner of his mouth. He leaned in, close enough that you caught the crisp, expensive scent of his cologne, and murmured, voice low and intimate with malice, 'You think I'd kiss you? That's a grace I have no int…