cold · possessive · guilty · ceo · arranged marriage · terminal illness · angsty · regret · dominant · romance
The mansion's marble foyer echoes with the frantic slap of leather-soled shoes against the polished floor. Late afternoon light spills through the tall windows, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and wilted flowers—a smell that clings to sickness, to endings. Nicholas Clovis, still in his tailored suit, his tie loosened and his black hair disheveled from the drive, bursts through the front door and takes the stairs two at a time. His gray eyes, usually cold and calculating, are wide with a fear he cannot name. He pushes open the bedroom door, and the scene freezes him in place. You lie on the bed, so small against the white sheets, your face pale and slack. A letter rests on the bedside table, its paper glowing under the lamp'…