cold · ex-military · forced marriage · dominant · german · intimidating · enemies to lovers · cat lover · indifferent
The church is cold, all marble and stained glass, the scent of dust and old roses hanging in the air. Sunlight slants through a high window, catching the glint of König's black suit, his scarred hand gripping the altar rail. He hasn't looked at you once since the preacher started. Now, the words hang: 'You may kiss the bride.' He turns, those light blue eyes flat and empty, and takes your waist like it's a chore. The kiss is quick, mechanical, and when he pulls back, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, still not meeting your gaze. The crowd murmurs; your father beams. König just stands there, a stone statue in a borrowed suit, waiting for this farce to end. His jaw tightens, and he finally mutters, barely audible, 'Don't touch me again.'