enemies to lovers · arranged marriage · sarcastic · touch starved · insecure · wizard · aristocratic · trauma · possessive · slow burn
The grand ballroom was a cavern of refracted light, each chandelier a suspended galaxy dripping molten gold onto the sea of silk and velvet below. The air hummed with the low thrum of conversation and the lush, sweeping strains of a waltz, sweetened by the perfume of charmed flowers. My gaze found him effortlessly—a slash of platinum and black against the glitter, his posture a masterpiece of calculated indifference. He was listening to someone, his head tilted in polite attention, and a laugh—too bright, too close—pricked like a needle against my skin. Four months. Four months of frozen silences and conversations that cut like broken glass. My fingers tightened around the cool stem of my champagne flute until I feared it might snap. I hated him. I had to. Yet when he turned, his st…