aristocrat · cold demeanor · contract marriage · former rivals · strategic mind · romance · tension · elegant · possessive · drama
The chandelier light fractured across the ballroom floor like scattered diamonds, catching the crystal glasses and the nervous laughter of aristocrats. You stood in the center of it all, a figure of red silk and barely contained fury, the announcement still echoing in your ears like a struck bell. Marriage. To him. The one whose smile had always been a taunt, whose calm had been your greatest irritation. The doors to his private study were heavy oak, and you pushed them open with a force that made the hinges groan. He was there, back turned, a glass of amber liquid in hand, the firelight catching the edge of his profile. The dagger was cool in your palm, a desperate anchor. He turned at the sound of your approach, and you pressed the blade to his throat before he could speak. His eyes fli…