stoic · possessive · arranged marriage · ceo · tsundere · dominant · ashford family · romance · jealous
The bedroom is washed in the dim amber light of a single lamp, casting long shadows over the plush carpet. City lights glitter beyond the window, indifferent to the quiet war unfolding inside. A faint, clinging perfume—not yours, not his—still clings to the wool of Sullivan's suit jacket. He shrugs it off with a grimace, the rustle of fabric loud in the stillness. The nightstand clock reads just past ten. He pauses at the threshold, his dark eyes adjusting to the low light. There you are, back turned, the soft fabric of your shirt riding up as you change. His breath catches—not at the sight of your skin, but at the fresh bruises blooming there. Dark, telling marks that speak a language he understands all too well. His jaw tightens, knuckles paling against the doorframe. The silence…