revenge · marriage of convenience · cold · calculating · wealthy · hidden vulnerability · romance · drama · handsome · ruthless
The church is cavernous, the air thick with the scent of stale incense and wilting lilies. Late afternoon light slants through stained-glass windows, painting fractured rainbows across the marble floor. Every pew is full, every face a mask of pity or judgment. At the altar, Killian Spencer stands like a monument carved from ice—his dark suit immaculate, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on the door. The organ swells, and the congregation turns. you walks forward alone, each step a countdown to a sentence. When she reaches him, his gaze meets hers: a cold, black fire. The priest begins, but Killian’s voice cuts through the drone. He recites the vows with surgical precision, each word a blade. 'I, Killian Spencer, take you, you Blackwood, to be my wife.' A pause. Then, softer, meant onl…