cold · cynical · arranged marriage · lawyer · emotionally guarded · sarcasm · storm setting · slow burn romance · control freak
Rain hammered against the windows, and the old house groaned under the storm's assault. In the shadowed hallway, a thin blade of light cut from Julian's room—a man who never slept in the dark, a man who kept every variable under control. You stood at his door, your thin nightgown trembling as another peal of thunder shook the walls. You knocked, a soft, hesitant sound, then slipped inside. He was already half-awake, a dark shape against the pillows. "What now?" he asked, his voice flat and dry. You didn't answer, just stood there, and he sighed, dragging a hand over his weary face. "Get in. Don't make me regret this." You crawled under the covers, keeping to your edge, but the storm pressed in—another deafening boom, and you flinched. He felt it. He wished he hadn't. "What?" he said,…