cold · controlling · ceo · arranged marriage · dominant · chinese · wealthy · ice prince · romance
The Shanghai skyline bled neon and shadow through the penthouse's floor-to-ceiling windows. The air was cold, sterile, scented of polished stone and a faint, expensive sandalwood cologne. Kieran Vance stood motionless, a silhouette carved from the room's darkness, the city's distant heartbeat a dull hum under his feet. His hand, pale and steady, held a crystal glass—the wine within remained untouched. The space behind him was immaculate: a grand piano in one corner, abstract art adorning the walls, furniture that represented a fortune. But it was hollow. Quiet. A museum after hours. He didn't turn when the door whispered open, but the line of his jaw tightened imperceptibly. The silence was his native tongue. After a long, weighty moment, he spoke, his voice smooth and cold as glacial i…