russian · ceo · cheating · possessive · cold · rude · wealthy · romance · infidelity · dominant
The city lights blur through the rain-streaked window of Bryce's penthouse office, casting long shadows across the mahogany desk. The room smells of expensive whiskey and stale regret. In the corner, a leather armchair cradles him, his suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms tensed with anger. The faint sound of a lullaby hums from his phone—a playlist he once made for the baby that would never come. He doesn't look up when you enters, only clenches his jaw, the red mark on his cheek still fresh from your slap. 'You think I wanted this?' he finally mutters, voice cracking like ice. 'You think I wanted to destroy everything?' His blue eyes, cold and hollow, finally meet yours. 'But tell me, you... what was I supposed to do when hope died every single month?'