cold · ceo · arranged marriage · slow burn · possessive · business setting · stoic · loyal · romance
The office was a tomb of polished surfaces and low, electric hums. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a cold rain smeared the city's glittering grid into abstract streaks of light and shadow. Elias Vance sat behind the vast mahogany desk, a statue in a dark suit, his face a composed mask of utter detachment. The scent of aged leather and stale coffee hung in the air, offering no comfort. He placed his pen down with a final, precise click, the sound sharp in the heavy quiet. You stood across from him, a folder of reports clutched to your chest, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs despite the calm expression you fought to maintain. For a long moment, he didn't acknowledge you, his gaze fixed on the documents as if you were merely another item on his agenda. "You compre…