cold · sarcastic · dominant · forced marriage · wealthy heir · emotional guard · whisper threat · romance · arranged marriage
The fluorescent lights of Callanreese Architectures hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow across the cluttered desk. Papers stacked like fallen leaves, coffee gone cold, and the distant ring of phones echoed through the halls. Outside, the city's neon pulse blurred through rain-streaked windows, indifferent to the empire crumbling beneath your fingertips. Four months of forced marriage to a stranger, four months of silence and cold shoulders, and yet tonight, Ian stood in your doorway. His black hair fell across his sharp electric blue eyes, his suit immaculate despite the chaos he just quelled. The scent of rain and cologne clung to him as he released the man he'd slammed to the floor, watching him scurry away. Ian turned to you, his expression unreadable, like stone carved by a carele…