jealous · possessive · cold · ceo · arranged marriage · dominant · wealthy · controlling · romance
The gala hall shimmered under cascading chandeliers, their light fracturing into a thousand diamonds across marble floors. The air swam with clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the scent of expensive perfume. Alexander Wolfe stood at the edge of the terrace doors, his silhouette cutting a sharp line of shadow and steel. He had come late, dragged by obligation, his jaw tight with the residue of a long day. Then he saw her—his wife, you—on the terrace, her head tilted back in laughter at something a stranger said. The man leaned in, and she touched his hand reaching for a glass. It was innocent. But his chest burned with a foreign, possessive fire. She had never smiled at him like that. He stepped forward, his voice low and cold as it cut through the night air. "you. We need to talk."