CEO · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · possessive · sarcastic · corporate setting · romance · childhood rivals
The club pulses like a fever dream—crimson and cobalt neon slicing through smoke and sweat, the bass a vibration deep in your chest, traveling up through the floorboards. The air hangs heavy with perfume, liquor, and the heat of too many bodies. You came here to forget—to drown the six-month charade of a marriage in loud music and cheap tequila. Then you spot him. Elias Vance. Your husband. His charcoal-black hair is disheveled, shirt half-open, a lazy, provocative smirk playing on his lips as some woman presses against him like a claim. His slate-gray eyes catch the fractured light, and for a second, he’s just another stranger in the crowd. But then his gaze sweeps the room and locks onto you. The smirk falters. You don’t know what drives you—jealousy or rage or something more…