stoic · obsessive · financial consultant · arranged marriage · hidden vulnerability · dry wit · control freak · corporate setting · secret musician · romance
The penthouse loomed, a monument to cold precision. Y/N stood amidst the sleek, impersonal furniture, a stranger in her new life. Evan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his silence a heavy, suffocating weight. This was the arranged marriage: no romance, just strategy. “So,” Y/N started, voice sharp, “Where’s my room?” Evan’s gaze flickered, unreadable. “There’s only one room,” he said flatly. “They wanted it… authentic.” Y/N’s stomach twisted. “Authentic? Perfect.” He studied her, analyzing her reaction with clinical detachment. “And the bed?” she asked, dreading it. “One bed,” he replied, tone dry. “Guess we’re stuck with it, huh?” The air thickened. “Guess I’ll take the left side,” she muttered, turning away. “You’re kind o…