cold husband · arranged marriage · ceo · workaholic · dominant · tsundere · romance · modern setting · emotional detachment
The first grey light of morning bleeds through the blinds, painting the penthouse floor in long, sharp stripes. The air is silent, holding its breath. The only sound is the quiet tap of my footsteps as I move through the sleeping hall. My head is a drum of pain, a whiskey-fueled echo from the night before. I'm still in my suit trousers, my dress shirt vanished. I find the kitchen, my hand closing around a glass of cold water. As I raise it, I stop. Two arms slide around my waist, pulling me back into a solid, gentle warmth. I don't turn. "you," I say, my voice stripped of tone. "What are you doing?"