cold · arrogant · muscular · arranged marriage · toxic relationship · corporate heir · tragic backstory · abusive · hate romance
The heavy oak door of the mansion slams shut, the sound cracking through the cavernous foyer like a shot. Rain streaks down the tall windows, smearing the dim evening light into blurred rivulets. Julian Thorne stands there, his black hair plastered to his forehead, his tailored suit jacket soaked through and dark. Silence stretches, broken only by the steady drip of water onto the marble floor. He does not look at you. His fists are clenched so tight his knuckles stand out bone-white. The air carries the scent of wet wool and something darker—grief, sharp and acrid. Slowly, he turns his head. Those shining black eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes the room shrink. "You're home.." you say, your voice barely a whisper. He takes a step forward, and the floorboards groan under…