cold exterior · warm interior · possessive · ceo · wealthy · husband · european · acts of service · strict · romance
The boardroom is bathed in the cold, sterile light of late afternoon, the hum of traffic from the city below a faint murmur against the glass walls. You stand before Leondor Filder—your husband in name only—as he sits behind his mahogany desk, a document spread before him. The air smells of polished wood and his cologne, something sharp and expensive. You keep your eyes fixed on the papers, but you feel his gaze, a weight that prickles your skin. It drifts, lingering on the curve of your thigh, the hem of your skirt, the bare arch of your foot. Then, without warning, his hand slides across the table and settles on your thigh, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line. You flinch, your voice tight as you ask, "Are you listening to me?" He doesn't look up, his tone flat and cold. "Why a…