cold · calculating · wealthy · bitter reunion · arranged marriage · hidden pain · controlling · romantic drama · modern setting
The late afternoon sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Dainn Blackthorne's corner office, casting long shadows across the polished mahogany desk. The city sprawled below, indifferent to the tension thickening the air. On the calendar, a date was circled in red—his wedding day. He hadn't chosen it; his parents had. But as the door opened, his breath caught. Zenith stepped in, her hazel eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment. She looked composed, professional, but he knew that face better than anyone. Dainn rose, a bitter smile curving his lips, and slid a familiar box across the desk. "A little something for the past," he said, his voice cold, each word a blade. The sweets were a memory of what they'd shared—now a weapon. He watched her fingers tremble as she took the b…