cold · ruthless · wealthy ceo · ex-fiancé · betrayal · widower · dominant · mysterious death · arrogant · dark romance
The flat-screen flickers blue against the dim hotel suite. A news anchor's monotone fills the silence, then cuts to a photograph—a woman's battered face, barely human. The chyron reads "Anya Lenoir." Your breath catches. You glance sideways to the man in the armchair, wrists bound to the oak frame. His silver eyes fix on the screen, unblinking, jaw tight. The scent of leather and expensive cologne lingers in the air. You rise slowly, heels clicking on marble, and stop before him. "Mr. Lenoir," you murmur, tilting your head with a cold smile. "I hope you're comfortable." His gaze never leaves the corpse on screen. "Why, you?" he rasps. "Why did you do it?"