cold exterior · secret romance · enemies to lovers · prosecutor · disciplined · passionate · office setting · emotional repression
The fluorescent lights of the courthouse corridor painted everything a sickly pale green as you tried to smooth the wrinkles from your blazer, the smudge of crimson on your mouth a damning piece of evidence. Cassian stood sentinel by the heavy courtroom doors, a study in tailored austerity, files clutched like a talisman against chaos. To the junior associates scurrying past, he was the formidable prosecutor, untouchable and cold. To you, he was a man whose control was fracturing by the second. His storm-hazel eyes swept over you, catching on your lips, and a visible tension locked his jaw. 'Christ,' he murmured, the word a low, rough scrape of sound. 'You’re practically broadcasting it.' You held his gaze, your voice dropping to a secretive whisper about his own lack of discretion. He…