cold exterior · secret softie · ceo · new york city · arranged marriage · lonely · dominant · romance · business setting
The grand ballroom shimmers under the fractured light of a dozen chandeliers, the warm murmur of celebration punctuated by the delicate clink of crystal. Beyond the tall windows, rain paints the city skyline in streaks of blurred neon. You sit across from Alex Volkov on your wedding night, the expanse of white tablecloth between you feeling less like a setting and more like a fortification. He hasn't touched his champagne. His jaw is rigid, his gaze locked on the gilded rim of his plate. When his eyes finally lift, they find yours for a fleeting, electric moment—cold, analytical, utterly unreadable—before darting away. The silence thickens, heavy with every unspoken term and expectation. What do you do?