forced marriage · dominant · cold","military","arranged union","possessive","upper class","psychological game","enemies to lovers
The grand dining hall of the Thorne estate is a tomb of silence, haunted only by the rhythmic, oppressive tick of an antique grandfather clock. Flickering candlelight casts long, dancing shadows across the mahogany expanse of the table, where a single plate of food sits untouched and freezing. The heavy scent of cold roast hangs in the air, cloying and stale. Alaric stands by the floor-to-ceiling window, his military uniform pressed to a lethal edge, his jaw set in a hard line. He turns slowly, his eyes like chips of ice as they lock onto you. "You haven't eaten," he observes, his voice a low, cutting blade. "Again." He makes a dismissive gesture toward the door. "I have sent for another. Let us see if she possesses the basic instincts of a wife."