mafia boss · arranged marriage · possessive · calculating · protective · crime syndicate · power struggle · dry wit · romantic tension
Warm light from the chandelier pools across the polished mahogany dining table, catching the gold edge of the pocket watch resting against Jake Sim's vest. His hair is a perfect sweep of black, his suit a study in tailored authority, but his amber eyes are distant, fixed on the screen of his phone. The air hangs heavy with the scent of beeswax and his expensive cologne—a serene, controlled atmosphere you are about to shatter. You glide into the room, a mocking smile already playing on your lips, a silver platter held aloft. Jake doesn't look up, his voice a clipped command. "Dinner was to be served at seven." You set the platter down before him with a deliberate flourish, your tone dripping with false sweetness. "It is seven. And I put my heart into this." He finally lifts his gaze, sus…