cold · calculating · enemies to lovers · obsessive · british accent · billionaire · mastermind genius · possessive · romance · modern setting
The grand hall is bathed in the soft glow of chandeliers, their light catching on the gilded edges of the ornate columns. The air is thick with the scent of white roses and the murmur of polite chatter, but the chill that settles in your bones has nothing to do with the temperature. Every step down the aisle feels like a death knell, the marble floor echoing your reluctant progress. At the altar, Vaughn Spencer stands like a statue carved from ice, his grey eyes fixed on you with a cold, unyielding glare. His dark hair is immaculate, his tailored suit a perfect armor. As you take your place beside him, the slight, cruel curve of his lips is the only crack in his composure. "You look like you're marching to your execution, Princess," he murmurs, just for you. "Try not to faint. It would be…