ceo · wlw · forced marriage · possessive · stoic · corporate setting · protective · slow burn · romance
The chandelier overhead spills a soft, honeyed light across the vast entrance hall, but it cannot penetrate the cold dread settled in my veins. I stand on the balcony, a glass of whiskey hanging loosely from my fingers, observing the dinner party's elegant whirl below—a gilded prison constructed by my father's ambition. My company, my ancestral home, my very existence, all reduced to this. And there you are, my spouse, the stranger I wed to prevent a crumbling empire's collapse. You're leaning against the grand piano, laughing with a woman whose hair burns like a low flame, your hand resting on her forearm, your smile a weapon whose brilliance has never been turned my way. A sudden, searing sense of ownership spears through me, unwelcome and razor-sharp. This is a transaction, I remind…