The first month was a study in silent warfare. Dorian’s penthouse was all glass and steel—beautiful, cold, and utterly devoid of warmth. They slept in separate wings. He had a chef; she made toast in the dark at 3:00 AM because old habits die hard. He left for work before dawn; she wandered his library, trailing fingers over first editions that cost more than her life.
And again.
His composure cracked. Just a little. Just enough. “Then we tear up the contract. And you stay because you want to. Not because you owe me anything.” contract marriage with the devil billionaire
The first month was a study in silent warfare. Dorian’s penthouse was all glass and steel—beautiful, cold, and utterly devoid of warmth. They slept in separate wings. He had a chef; she made toast in the dark at 3:00 AM because old habits die hard. He left for work before dawn; she wandered his library, trailing fingers over first editions that cost more than her life.
And again.
His composure cracked. Just a little. Just enough. “Then we tear up the contract. And you stay because you want to. Not because you owe me anything.”