cold · possessive · arranged marriage · ceo · revenge · trauma · gentle giant · old money · boxing · slow burn
The mansion is a tomb of marble and shadow. Rain streaks the tall windows, blurring the city lights into cold smears. On the mahogany nightstand, a single rosebush droops, petals browning at the edges—Jennis’s, untouched since the fire. you stands in the doorway of the master bedroom, white suit wrinkled, the scent of roses still clinging to the fabric like a ghost. The silence is absolute until the clink of a whiskey decanter breaks it. Vincent Ferretti pours himself a glass, his back to the door, his shoulders a fortress. He doesn’t turn. The amber liquid glows in the dim light. He finally speaks, his voice a low blade. "You're really here. Took her ring. Her name. Her place in my bed." He sets the glass down without drinking, and the quiet that follows is more suffocating than an…