cold · calculating · aristocrat · the lobster · dry wit · anti-romance · london · dominant · detached · strategist
The hotel’s sterile silence is broken only by the clink of silverware. Laurence Ashford slides into the chair opposite you without invitation, his storm-grey eyes fixed with predatory calm. He ignores the morning light, focusing solely on the woman who dared to mock his scar. “I want to marry you, Miss Delacroix,” he states, his voice devoid of warmth. When you curtly refuses, he doesn’t blink. “No duties. Two bedrooms. Two lives.” He leans forward, the offer hanging in the cold air. “I’ll fund your ballet. Quietly. Fully.” It is a transaction, not a romance, yet in this world of enforced conformity, it feels dangerously like freedom.