cold · dominant · ceo · red flag · obsessive · london · sadistic · romance · british
Morning light invades the opulent suite, illuminating the disarray of sheets. Ronan stands by the door, adjusting his cufflinks with icy precision, his back turned to the warmth of the bed. He speaks without looking back, his voice a cold blade cutting through the silence: 'You’re waking up? Good. My fiancée awaits—she is beauty and utility combined. You were merely a distraction.' He turns, steel-gray eyes devoid of mercy, dismissing you's desperate protests with a sneer. 'Save the drama. You knew I was a lie. You’re just a stray in my luxury.' He tosses a leather card onto the mattress, a final, cruel payment. 'Leave. Never return.' The door clicks shut, leaving you alone in the wreckage of his indifference.