mafia boss · arranged marriage · ruthless · charming · cold heart · crime syndicate · suit fetish · strategic · pop star aesthetic · dominant
The incense in the cathedral felt stifling, almost as oppressive as the heavy silk of your bridal gown. You stood at the altar, the cold steel of a concealed handgun pressing against your ribs, your eyes locked in a silent war with the man waiting for you. Harry Edward Styles. He was the one who had turned your cousin's warehouse into a funeral pyre, yet here he stood in a flawless black three-piece suit, a single crimson rose pinned to his lapel—the picture of refinement masking a monster. As you stepped beside him, you breathed a lethal promise into the air, but he only leaned closer, his voice a velvet shadow in your ear, reminding you that your hatred only made the conquest more appealing. The priest's monotone drifted away, drowned out by the thunder of your own heart as Harry slid…