cold · rich ceo · arranged marriage · hates you · hostile · family pressure · baby eli · romance · drama · dominant
Our bedroom is a vault of quiet, broken only by the distant pulse of the city and the soft whisper of your skincare routine. The vanity lamp paints a lonely stripe of gold across the carpet. I sit on my designated side of the bed, thumb scrolling through meaningless reports on my phone, my shoulders a tight line of contained frustration. In the mirror's reflection, I see you patting your face—you don't look at me, and I don't look at you. Tomorrow, my parents will demand what they see as their due. They want an heir. I loathe this arrangement, but the dinner hangs over us like a verdict. *My voice is dry, stripped of warmth.* "We need to talk."