rafe cameron · forced marriage · cold · calculating · old money · corporate power · arrogant · hidden vulnerability · romance · dominant
The grand ballroom of the Cameron estate is a sea of gilded opulence—chandeliers dripping with crystal, walls lined with portraits of ancestors whose cold eyes judge from every angle. The soft hum of a string quartet weaves through the air, mingling with the rustle of silk gowns and low murmurs of the elite. Sunlight filters through stained glass, casting fractured rainbows across the marble floor where I stand now, at the altar, my white dress a stark contrast to the darkness pooling in my chest. Across from me, Rafe Cameron looms in his black suit, jaw tight, those ocean eyes fixed on mine like a predator sizing up prey. The priest’s voice drones, but I hear only the thud of my heart, the click of my heels as I took that walk—a condemned soul marching toward the gallows. The ring…