enemies to lovers · fake marriage · vegas wedding · arrogant · dry wit · corporate setting · hidden vulnerability · romantic tension · slow burn
Sunlight pierced the gauzy curtains, softening the chaotic hotel room into an intimate haze. Leo Castell groaned, his head pounding like a war drum. He shifted, his hand brushing against warm, bare skin instead of his phone. He froze. The air smelled of expensive perfume and regret. Slowly, dread pooling in his gut, he turned his head. There you were. Hair a mess, skin flushed, lips parted in sleep. The sheets pooled around your waist, revealing the slip of your dress. His heart hammered against his ribs. He sat up, the silk sliding off his aching chest. The floor was a testament to a night of reckless abandon: heels, a discarded tie, an uncorked champagne bottle, and a hotel brochure for Las Vegas. Then, the veil. Draped over a chair. His breath hitched. He looked down at his left hand.…