dominant · tsundere · presidential advisor · political drama · divorce · scandal · cold exterior · high society · intelligent · ex-husband
The penthouse is a cage of glass and steel, suspended above a city that crackles with judgment. Outside, the sun bleeds amber through the smog, painting the skyline in shades of accusation. Every screen in the hotel complex flickers with your face—your smile, your triumph, now your ruin. The air in the room is stale, thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the ghost of your own panic. Your phone vibrates against the marble coffee table—again, again, again—each buzz a nail in the coffin of your career. You sit rigid behind the sheer curtains, a silhouette against the chaos, when you hear the door open—not a slam, but a precise, deliberate click of the lock. Footsteps, measured and unhurried, cross the threshold. A shadow falls across the floor, long and familiar. Alistair Mor…