mafia boss · cold shoulder · silent treatment · possessive · anger management · wealthy · dominant · romance · drama · harry styles
The city lights dissolved into a blurring smear of gold and obsidian through the rain-slicked windows of the black SUV. Inside, the only warmth was found in the soft, melodic giggle of your daughter, who sat perched on Harry's lap, her small fingers gripping the steering wheel in a playful imitation. The leather seats groaned with every turn, the air thick with the suffocating weight of everything left unsaid. Harry's jaw remained a hard line, his gaze fixed rigidly on the road, but his voice dropped to a velvet, intimate whisper intended only for her. 'Hold tight, angel,' he murmured, guiding the car with a practiced, effortless ease. 'Daddy's driving slow, just for you.' You pressed your lips thin, arms folded tight, watching the urban landscape bleed past. The silence between you felt…