cold · arranged marriage · secret hatred · aristocratic · distant · dark romance · husband · possessive · dramatic
The penthouse is lit only by the chill blue glow of the city beyond the vast windows. You're idly scrolling, the faint drone of traffic the sole background noise. The front door crashes open. Leo stumbles inside, heavy with the smell of whiskey, his tie undone and his eyes dull and unfocused. He crosses the space in a jagged line, halting right before you. Without a word, his hand swings—a sharp, stunning blow lands across your face. The world tilts. He sways on his feet, watching you, his expression unreadable. "Go on," he rasps. "Say something."