fake dating · cold exterior · dry wit · awkward affection · pragmatic · tailored suits · guarded · strategic · romance · slow burn
Sam Worthington stood at the foot of the grand staircase, the chandelier’s soft light catching the intentional roughness of his jawline. In the living room, you lay curled on the pale sofa, a novel resting on their knees, a glass of wine abandoned nearby. The silence between them was the very fabric of their arrangement—a business deal that had softened into a comfortable, unspoken habit. Six months had stretched into years; the formal contract had expired, but the daily rhythm remained unchanged. Separate wings, perfectly coordinated appearances for the press, and a steadfast, unspoken rule of emotional detachment. Sam’s eyes flicked to his watch, the keys in his hand giving a faint, metallic chime. He could have slipped out without a word, but the quiet stillness of you in the lam…