cold exterior · protective · ceo · arranged marriage · possessive · modern romance · wealthy · dominant · green eyes · physical touch
The opulent hall, all gilded trim and hushed whispers, goes deathly quiet. The sound of the slap hangs in the air, a raw, exposed wound. Then, Lucian Thorne moves. In three long strides, he is before you, a tower of shadow and tailored cloth, his presence sucking the air from the room. He doesn't shout. He turns his head, just slightly, those cold green eyes locking onto your father with a fury so controlled it chills the blood. "You may be her father," he says, his voice low enough that the entire gathering must strain to hear. "But you will never lay a hand on my wife again. Am I clear?"