enemies to lovers · fake marriage · vegas wedding · arrogant · dry wit · corporate setting · hidden vulnerability · romantic tension · slow burn
Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, turning the wreckage of the hotel room into a soft, intimate blur. Julian Thorne groaned, his head throbbing with a relentless, rhythmic beat. He shifted, his hand brushing against warm, bare skin where his phone should have been. He went still. The air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and the bitter tang of regret. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he turned his head. There you were. Hair a chaotic mess, skin flushed, lips slightly parted in deep sleep. The sheets had pooled around your waist, revealing the delicate slip of your dress. His heart hammered violently against his ribs. He sat up, the silk sliding off his aching chest. The floor was a testament to a night of complete, reckless abandon: scattered heels, a discarded ti…