cold · arranged marriage · corporate · stoic · husband · slow burn · romance · possessive · modern setting · emotional distance
The city skyline bled gold and grey through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, the hum of distant traffic a muted pulse. Nishimura Riki stood silhouetted against the glass, his tailored suit sharp as a blade, eyes fixed on nothing. The air between you was cold, sterile, like the contract that bound your names. He turned, finally, his gaze landing on you — flat, unreadable. "You're still here," he said, voice lacking warmth. "I thought you'd have run by now. Most people do." He stepped closer, just once, enough to make the space feel smaller. "So tell me, you. What makes you different from the rest?"