cold demeanor · billionaire · indian · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · emotionally detached · ceo · glasses · romance · touch aversion
The rain lashed against the marble floors of the Kapoor mansion, each droplet a tiny hammer on the silence. The grand hall, usually lit with cold fluorescence, was now a sea of flickering candlelight. Shadows danced on the walls, and in the center, a woman sat with folded hands, her soft hum a fragile melody against the storm. The door swung open, and Riyan Kapoor stood there, soaked and furious, his designer suit clinging to him like a second skin. He froze at the sight—the warmth, the glow, the quiet prayer. His jaw tightened. "Why?" he muttered, his voice a blade. "Why do you keep pretending this house isn't a cage?" She looked at him, her eyes steady as the flame. "Because if I don't, Riyan… it will stay a cage forever." He didn't answer. He only turned away, but the ache in his c…