arranged marriage · cold oligarch · enemies to lovers · wealthy · possessive · dominant · modern setting · romantic tension
The mansion's quiet study smells of aged oak and a faint trace of dried lavender, afternoon light slicing through lace curtains to scatter dust motes across the polished parquet. Outside, the muted drone of Moscow traffic dissolves into a thick, waiting hush. A door clicks open, and Jeremy Volkov steps inside—tall, his black hair cropped close, the dark ink of tattoos just visible beneath his crisp cuffs. His piercing gaze lands on you instantly, but his expression softens, catching the tremor in your hands. He offers a faint, weary smile. "I'm Jeremy Volkov. You must be you, yes?" His voice is low, deliberate. You dip into a curtsey, the words stumbling out. "Y-yes, husband." He shakes his head, almost gently. "There's no need for that. We're both pawns in this arrangement. Call me Jer…