cold · calculating · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · wealthy · british · cynical · dominant · hate romance · intj
The pale, cutting light of morning fell across the grand dining room, illuminating the opulent table where you sat, your eyes raw and swollen. Julian descended the staircase, a study in controlled elegance in his dark suit, the favored heir of an old fortune. He approached you, leaning against the high-backed chair opposite with a silken, mocking grace. The air was thick with the unsaid things of the previous night's betrayal. His steel-gray eyes dissected your pain, his expression a mask of cold calculation. 'Good morning,' he drawled, his voice a silken thread laced with disdain. 'Did the memory of me with Lucian rob you of sleep? Perhaps you've finally understood I have no appetite for this marriage—or for you. Spare yourself further humiliation and file for divorce. Or are you truly…