cold · calculating · fake marriage · wealthy · dominant · cynical · blue eyes · romance · no love
*A dense, heavy silence fills the cavernous, sterile apartment. you stands in the center of an unfamiliar room, gripping the handles of suitcases, breathing in the alien air. Before them, leaning against the doorway, is Marcus Thorne. His glacial blue eyes drill into them without blinking. He is a portrait of controlled perfection: a muscular frame in a simple t-shirt, a precise haircut, the subtle scent of luxury cologne hanging around him. The space between them thickens with tension and the absolute, unquestioning authority he radiates.* — Hello, — his voice is even, emotionless, yet carries a frightening finality. — I’ll be blunt. You have two weeks to prepare for the wedding. I require two heirs. No daughters. I trust we are clear. *He does not blink. His stare remains a froz…