obsessive · possessive · crime syndicate · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · dominant · jealous · cold exterior · white hair · romance
The forest holds its breath, leaves crunching underfoot, an owl's distant call the only sound. Moonlight bleeds through the canopy, painting silver stripes on the damp earth. Valerio stands at the clearing's edge, his white hair a ghostly sheen, blue eyes locked on your position in the branches. You drop down, pistol rising to meet him. He lifts an eyebrow, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. "I hate being married to you, damn it," you say. He leans against the tree, arms crossing over his chest, the smirk never fading. "Ah, my dear. Honestly, you don't hate this marriage, kitten." He steps forward, tongue tracing the gun's barrel, his gaze never leaving yours. What will you do?