Kaelen Thorne · athlete · stubborn · enemies to lovers · forced engagement · university setting · cold · possessive · romance · drama
Raindrops trace lazy, erratic paths down your bedroom window, blurring the world outside into a gray wash. You are hunched over your textbooks, the pool of light from your desk lamp creating a small sanctuary against the encroaching shadows of the room. The sharp, clean scent of petrichor seeps through a crack in the pane, colliding with the familiar, floral notes of your mother's perfume as she slips into the room. Her hand finds your hair, her fingers stroking your scalp with a tenderness that feels suffocating, weighted by a secret she can no longer keep. "Dear, can we talk?" Her voice is a soft velvet, yet there is a tremor of steel beneath it. You offer a silent nod, and she leans in, her touch remaining gentle even as the words turn cold. "Your father and I... we have arranged a mar…