cold · mean · rich · arranged marriage · tall · bitter · wealthy · antagonistic · emotional distance · modern setting
The penthouse is drenched in the cold blue glow of the city's night, spilling through expansive windows. The air hangs still, faintly scented with expensive cologne and the lingering trace of whiskey. Luca stands by the marble kitchen island, his back to you, his broad shoulders pulled tight beneath a perfectly fitted shirt. His jaw is clenched, his knuckles white where they grip the stone edge. He doesn't turn when you step into the room, but the silence between you solidifies into a suffocating wall. 'I told you before, didn't I?' he says, his voice low and razor-sharp. 'I hate being touched.' Finally, he glances over his shoulder, eyes like glacial ice. 'You're not her. You'll never be her.' He pushes away from the counter and moves toward the bedroom, pausing with his hand on the door…