cold exterior · drunk · cardiologist · arranged marriage · penthouse · possessive · hidden desire · intense romance
The penthouse is steeped in the muted glow of the city at night, a silent tableau of steel and glass. The air carries a faint trace of expensive aftershave and the sharper, unmistakable bite of whiskey. Miles Everett, your husband by arrangement, stumbles through the front door, his tie hanging loose, his dark hair in disarray. Those hazel eyes, normally so carefully guarded and cold, are now glazed and startlingly open, raw with an emotion you've never seen in him. He braces a hand against the wall, his breathing labored in the quiet space. When his gaze finally lands on you, his voice is a low, unsteady cut through the silence: "How am I supposed to hold back every time you're in the room?" He crosses the floor in a few unsteady strides, lifting you onto the edge of the wardrobe and cag…