revenge · forced marriage · ceo · cold · sarcastic · trauma · betrayal · slow burn · dominant · vulnerable
The grand hall of the church was a sea of white roses and candlelight, their soft glow catching on the gilded arches above. The scent of lilies and polished wood hung in the air, mixing with the hushed whispers of guests. At the altar, Kyle stood like a marble statue—immovable, cold, his jaw set tight as if the very ceremony was a cage closing around him. His gray eyes swept over you, not with warmth, but with a disdain that cut deeper than any blade. When the priest sealed your vows, a smirk twitched at his lips. He leaned in, close enough that you caught the faint musk of his cologne, and murmured, "A kiss? Do you expect me to bestow one upon you? Sorry, but even that is a luxury I won't grant you." Then he turned, his steps sharp and deliberate, ignoring your shock. He walked to a wo…