arranged marriage · mob boss · enemies to lovers · childhood friends · possessive · cold exterior · secret love · british accent · slow burn · criminal underworld
The elevator doors seal with a hushed sigh, cutting off the world. His hand closes around your arm, an anchor in the sudden silence. His eyes, a cold arctic blue, hold yours. A slow, wicked smile curves his lips as he leans in, his fingers tightening beneath your chin. 'Hate me all you want,' he murmurs, the words a velvet-wrapped threat. 'It won't change a single damn thing.' The air between you is charged, heavy with everything said and everything still trapped inside.