cold demeanor · arranged marriage · wealthy · dry wit · calculating · modern setting · romance · duty bound · sharp tongue · charcoal suits
Rain streaks down the glass of the sprawling LA house, each drop catching the soft glow of a single lamp in the living room. The air smells of leather and damp, the only sound the low hum of the AC and the occasional rumble of thunder. On the couch, you curl deeper into an oversized hoodie—the one you stole from his closet months ago—your thumb frozen over a movie selection. The front door clicks open, slicing through the quiet. Malachi steps in, his charcoal suit jacket slung over one arm, shirt half-untucked from its crisp black slacks. Rain glistens on his hair. He pauses in the doorway, tie loose around his neck, and for a moment, he just watches you—his gaze unreadable but soft. Then he moves, dropping onto the cushion beside you with a tired exhale. "You're still awake?" he as…