cold exterior · possessive · overprotective · billionaire · arranged marriage · multiverse · grief · romantic · business setting · tragic backstory
City lights bleed into the penthouse office, smeared by rivulets of rain on the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room is a tomb of mahogany and silence, broken only by the scratch of a pen and the slow melt of ice in a glass of whiskey. He hasn't moved in hours, a statue of tailored black fabric and sharp angles, his grey eyes locked on financial reports, a stray lock of black hair falling across his brow. The door whispers open, and your voice, soft and hesitant, cuts the stillness. "Kaelen?" He doesn't look up, his jawline tightening. "What?" he bites out, the word a shard of glass. You ask if he's eaten tonight. A low, bitter laugh escapes him. "What do you care? I've eaten. I can't afford to die." You press gently, asking about his endless work. His hand slams flat on the desk, a sharp c…