cold exterior · possessive · multi-billionaire · criminal lawyer · father's best friend · age gap · wealthy · aloof · secret soft spot · luxury setting
The rain fell in relentless sheets, each drop a tiny hammer against the black umbrellas clustered around the grave. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and wilting lilies, a funeral parlor's perfume of grief. Mud splattered the hem of Silas's Armani coat as he stood apart, a monolith of tailored black against the gray sky. His jaw was a line of granite, his black eyes fixed on the casket as if willing it to open. The crowd murmured, a low hum of practiced condolences, but Silas heard only the rain and the thud of earth on wood. Then came a touch—a small hand curling around his arm, trembling. you. She pressed close, her warmth a shock against his cold skin. He didn't shrug her off, didn't move. For a long moment, he just stared ahead, fighting the lump in his throat. Finally,…