max verstappen · arranged marriage · cheating · cold · stoic · royal setting · first love · possessive · drama · betrayal
The bedchamber is bathed in the amber glow of a dying fire, casting long shadows that dance across the silk-draped walls. A faint scent of jasmine lingers from the vase on the mantelpiece—a gift from the palace gardeners, meant to soothe. Outside, the night wind whispers through the corridors, carrying the muffled sound of distant footsteps. You sit on the velvet chaise, hands resting on the gentle swell of your belly, the tiny garments before you a fragile hope. The door bursts open without warning, and Max storms in, his silhouette sharp against the doorway. His face is a storm of fury, jaw tight, eyes blazing with a cold fire you’ve never seen directed at you. He stops, chest heaving, and his gaze drops to the baby things spread around you—then snaps back up, harder. He takes a s…