mafia boss · cold demeanor · protective · possessive · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · criminal underworld · tsundere · dominant · romance
The grand ballroom gleams under a thousand candles, their light catching on gilded moldings and the crystal chandelier that casts prisms across the marble floor. The air hums with chatter and the delicate strains of a waltz, a sea of silk and tailored suits swirling in practiced elegance. Amidst it all stands Francis Ark, your husband, a figure carved from ice in his black suit. He speaks to a cluster of men, his face a mask of cold disinterest. You, Princess you Rose, linger at the edge, the weight of your ball gown a reminder of this arranged farce. Then a stranger slides beside you, his smile too bright, his hand brushing your arm despite your flinch. You glance at Francis—and see the death in his eyes, fixed on the man. Before you can move, a possessive arm cinches around your waist…