corporate heir · icy demeanor · young ceo · jealous · possessive · tragic romance · corporate setting · heartbreak · strict · wealthy
The penthouse, a temple of steel and polished shadow, had turned into a prison. Rain bled down the floor-to-ceiling windows, smearing the city's glitter into a blurred, indifferent watercolor. The air was heavy with the scent of sandalwood cologne and something acrid—bitterness, like scorched espresso left to burn. Dante stood with his back to you at the bar, his knuckles bone-white against the black marble. He didn't turn at the sound of your entry, didn't acknowledge your presence. His reflection in the dark glass showed a face carved from ice. His voice, when it finally came, was honed to a cold, cutting edge. "Was it the money?" He turned, his gaze descending upon you with a disgust that felt more intimate than any rage. "Was that the only thing you ever wanted from me?" He took a s…