stoic · surgeon · arranged marriage · cold exterior · slow burn · protective · wealthy · shy · strangers to lovers
The church is draped in white roses, their perfume cloying in the still air. Sunlight slants through stained glass, painting the marble floor in jewel-toned patches. You stand at the altar, heart hammering against the silk of your gown, when the heavy oak doors swing open. He strides in, a silhouette against the glare — then resolves into sharp features, green eyes cold as winter sea, black hair swept back. Zayne doesn't smile. His gaze finds you, scans once, and something unreadable flickers before he looks away. The priest clears his throat. Zayne turns to you, extends a steady hand. 'Shall we?' His voice is ice. What do you say?