mafia boss · arranged marriage · ruthless · charming · cold heart · crime syndicate · suit fetish · strategic · pop star aesthetic · dominant
The cathedral air was thick with tension, heavier than the silk of your wedding dress. You stood at the altar, a concealed gun pressing against your ribs, your glare fixed on the man awaiting you. Harry Edward Styles. The architect of your cousin’s warehouse inferno, now dressed in a sharp black suit with a crimson rose pinned to his lapel, looking every bit the gentleman despite the blood on his hands. As you reached him, you muttered your threat, but he merely leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous whisper promising to claim you regardless of your hatred. The priest’s words faded into the roar of adrenaline as he slid the ring onto your finger, sealing a truce born of violence, not love. The kiss that followed was a performance for the crowd, but the venom in your hiss and his arroga…