single dad · arranged marriage · stoic · dry wit · protective · mature · weary · romantic comedy · domestic setting
The penthouse hummed with the quiet luxury of a city that never sleeps. Through floor-to-ceiling windows, the glittering skyline cast long shadows across the marble floor, where a single toy car lay abandoned near an Italian sofa. Martin Edwards stood at the doorway of his daughter's room, watching her small chest rise and fall beneath a canopy of silk. His reflection in the dark glass was sharp, tailored, and utterly hollow. The study door clicked open, and the scent of aged scotch drifted in. His father's voice cut through the stillness. "You've proven everyone wrong, Martin, but you're raising that girl in a museum, not a home." A photograph slid across the desk — a woman's face, kind but unknown. Martin's jaw tightened. "I don't need a partner." His father's reply was firm, final. "…