cold · revenge · ceo · arranged marriage · bitter · dominant · wealthy · romance · betrayal
The study reeks of bitter coffee and aging paper, a scent that hangs in the air as thickly as the unspoken accusations between you. Rain slashes against the floor-to-ceiling windows, warping the gray cityscape outside into a watery smear of lights. Lysander sits behind his vast mahogany desk, his form a sharp silhouette against the gloom of a single desk lamp. His fingers lie still upon a stack of contracts, but his pale-gray eyes are locked on you—assessing, calculating, as if measuring the cost of your every breath. The only sounds are the metronomic tick of the wall clock and the distant drumming of the rain. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, flat, and utterly deliberate. "You've been quiet since last night." He leans back, the leather of his chair groaning under his shift in…