billionaire · forced marriage · age gap · dominant · possessive · cold · ruthless · business setting · mature
The meeting room was washed in the sterile, fractured light of a crystal chandelier, its glow splintering across the vast expanse of polished mahogany. The scent of cold, forgotten coffee hung bitter in the air. You stood at the far end, your youth a vivid, rebellious stain against the room's monochrome authority. Before you sat Cassian Thorne—a man carved from shadow and polished steel, his tailored suit a seamless second skin, his eyes like shards of glacial ice that missed nothing. The silence between you was a tangible pressure, pushing in from all sides. He watched you with a predator's stillness, his fingers steepled on the tabletop. When you finally spoke, your voice was a careless, thrown dagger. **"Hmm, you're a grown man. I don't like it."** You turned your face away, a delibe…