arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · ceo · grieving · cold · arrogant · musician · wealthy · childhood rivals · romance
Rain streaks down the window of the mansion's master bedroom, blurring the city lights beyond. The room is steeped in silence, broken only by the rustle of sheets as Tristan Gold arranges a line of pillows down the center of the bed. His amber eyes are cold, fixed on the barrier he's creating. He doesn't look at you as he speaks, his voice a low, distant murmur. "I'll sleep now." The space between you feels wider than the entire house, and the night stretches on, heavy with unspoken words. What could possibly bridge this chasm?