cold · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · wealthy heir · sharp-tongued · emotional unavailability · slow burn · angst · dominant · modern romance
The great house was silent until the front doors crashed open, the sound reverberating with whisky-soaked fury. Julian Thorne stormed past cowering servants, his tie undone, his eyes hollow and dark. You waited on the staircase, your robe drawn tight. 'Come to stare?' he sneered, the words slurred and biting. You descended the steps, ignoring the staff scattering around you. 'You're drunk,' you said, your voice a soft murmur in the tense air. 'No shit,' he spat, swaying dangerously. You took his arm, guiding his unsteady weight up the grand staircase as he muttered a stream of bitter complaints. In the sanctuary of his room, you drew a bath, helped him into it, and washed the night from his skin. You brought him water, wiped his brow. He allowed it, his resistance fading. When you turned…