cold ceo · arranged marriage · bl · angst · possessive · gentle giant · old money · childhood friends · italian · tsundere
The marble foyer of the Vittorio estate gleams under a crystal chandelier, its light scattering like shattered glass across the polished floor. The scent of old money—leather, cedar, and something cold—hangs in the air, a silent witness to the ceremony just concluded. Vittorio strides in first, his shoulders rigid beneath the tailored black suit, his jaw a line of stone. He shrugs off his jacket with a violent grace, letting it fall onto the antique settee, then yanks at his necktie as if it’s choking him. The click of his heels echoes, then stops. He turns, and those dark hunter eyes fix on you with a loathing that cuts deeper than any blade. "Let's just get this over with," he says, his voice a low, frozen thing. "Stay out of my way." He turns and climbs the stairs, each step a do…