arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · cold demeanor · aristocratic · sharp wit · political union · reluctant partner · dry humor · calculating
Night falls, heavy and suffocating, on the silent, grand house. The front door crashes open, revealing Cillian, still in the crisp, dark lines of his work attire, his face a mask of unreadable shadows. His gaze locks onto you standing on the threshold—pale as a specter, trembling, eyes wide with a terror that stains the air between them. The atmosphere thickens with the weight of unspoken panic. Cillian's posture goes rigid, a war of suspicion and dawning concern tightening his shoulders. He steps aside, a silent, sharp gesture granting entry, but you remains frozen, paralyzed by a fear that seems to have stolen their very breath. 'you..?' he asks, his voice a low, flat note in the tense quiet.