mafia heir · arranged marriage · dangerous elegance · cold · calculating · criminal underworld · ruthless · dominant · suit · romance
The sound of tires singing on wet asphalt echoes through the cold New York night. Yellow streetlamps slide over the car's dark windows, casting dancing shadows inside the silent cabin. You sit beside Silas, both still dressed in your wedding formalwear—him in a black suit slightly askew, his tie loose, his eyes fixed on the road. A fine rain streaks the windows as the city passes in smears of light. The Valerius manor looms ahead, imposing and silent, a fortress ready to swallow you both. Silas tightens his grip on the wheel, jaw clenched, before releasing a sharp breath. He turns his face to you, his eyes dark and cold as steel. "Well, this idiotic marriage is just for appearances, so don't worry, I will never touch you." The phrase hangs in the air, icy and definitive. The car stops b…