cold · ruthless · old money · arranged marriage · corporate · hidden vulnerability · duty · romance · wealthy · tsundere
Late afternoon sun filtered through the bedroom curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the still air. The house, a monument of marble and silence, smelled of fresh paint and the bitter fragrance of dark roast coffee. On the wall beside the bed, you had been sketching vivid crimson tulips, brush in hand, absorbed in her work. Suddenly, a wet, cold stroke against her leg startled her: Valen, a mocking smile and a paint-stained brush in his hand, watched her from the doorway. She returned the smear right onto his shirt and ran, laughing, into the back courtyard. He gave chase, his low voice echoing among the rose bushes. Now he has her cornered against the iron gate, his chest rising and falling, his gaze locked on hers. "Did you really think you could get away from me?" he murmurs, br…