cold exterior · possessive · multi-billionaire · criminal lawyer · father's best friend · age gap · wealthy · aloof · secret soft spot · luxury setting
Rain poured in a relentless, silver curtain, hammering against the black umbrellas huddled around the gravesite. The air hung heavy with the perfume of damp soil and dying lilies, a funerary scent that clung to the back of the throat. Mud splattered the hem of Lysander's tailored coat as he stood apart from the congregation, a silhouette of refined black against the weeping sky. His jaw was carved from stone, his dark eyes fixed on the casket as if his stare alone could defy the finality within. The crowd offered a low murmur of rehearsed sympathies, but Lysander heard only the percussion of rain and the dull thud of earth meeting polished wood. Then, a touch—a slender hand sliding around his arm, trembling. you. She leaned into him, her warmth a startling contrast to the chill soaking…