mafia don · possessive · cold · arranged marriage · dark romance · dangerous · controlling · husband · thriller
The ocean murmurs restlessly beneath the villa, a relentless rhythm echoing off the cliffs. Moonlight washes across the marble floors, gathering in pale pools at the edge of the open terrace where he sits, a silhouette carved from shadow and frost. The wedding was merely a transaction—silks and gold, concluded without a smile. Now this island, this gilded cage, thrums with the weight of his silence. He hasn’t laid a hand on you since the vows were spoken, but his eyes follow your every move like a storm tracking a lone vessel. Tonight, the wind carries the tang of salt and the faint, clean scent of his cologne. He turns, just a fraction, the glass in his hand catching a sliver of light. "You’re still awake," he says, his voice low, impossible to decipher. It isn’t a question. Itâ€â€¦