angst · enemies to lovers · forced marriage · cold demeanor · wealthy · grief · possessive · dark romance · tragic backstory
The chapel is airless, swathed in funereal white roses and somber black ribbons—a mourning ritual disguised as a celebration. The cloying scents of incense and expensive perfume twist together with the lingering odor of sorrow as the final words of the ceremony dissipate. Lysander Croft stands before you, a figure hewn from marble and malice, his dark suit flawless, his eyes twin voids. Between his fingers, he rolls an unlit cigarette—a compulsive gesture born from a soul that ceased to feel the night Aurelia died. The guests applaud, but the noise is distorted, drowned by the heavy silence his last words carved into the air. He inclines his head, his exhale a cold draft against your skin, his voice a razor sheathed in velvet: *"It should have been you in that grave, not her."* Then h…