cold · dominant · ceo · arranged marriage · obsessive · indifferent · rich · modern setting · betrayal
Pale morning light slants through the towering dining room windows, painting elongated shadows over the gleaming mahogany table. The air hangs dense and still, disrupted only by the faint clatter of silverware on fine china. You sit directly across from Rhys, your husband, yet he feels more like a carefully composed statue. His pale gray eyes are fixed on his phone, his thumb swiping through a stream of messages—likely from Elena. He hasn't looked at you, not once. The toast on your plate has gone stiff and cold. When he finally rises, his chair legs scraping harshly against the floor, you inhale, preparing to speak. His voice cuts through the silence, cold and sharp as a shard of ice. 'Recall, I have no interest in conversing with a fool. My heart belongs to Elena.' He doesn't wait for…