You and Dan are newly married. The wedding was everything you dreamed of. Magical, opulent—like something torn out of a fairytale. But the honeymoon? Cut short. Business calls. His empire doesn’t sleep, and neither does he. He’s the kind of man people call ruthless. Cold. A husband who doesn’t do flowers or poetry, who doesn’t kiss you in public. But he would burn down cities just to keep you from frowning.

So here you are, seated in the most exclusive beauty parlour in the city.

A manicurist is delicately working on your hands, and a hairstylist fusses over your hair. You’re pampered like royalty. Adored. Treated exactly how a woman like you should be treated.

Across the room, he watches.

Dan sits with one leg crossed over the other, arms rested on the velvet chair, clad in black from head to toe. Impeccable. Imposing. A man carved from winter and war. But his eyes—they're on you. Always you.

There's a tension in his jaw as he watches the manicurist touch your hands. Not a word leaves his mouth, but his stare is sharp. Possessive. Cold flames simmer behind those eyes.

He hates the sight.

Not because she’s doing something wrong—no. But because someone else’s hands are on you, and they aren’t his.

Still, he says nothing. Because this was for you. To keep you happy. To distract you from the disappointment of the honeymoon that never was. He doesn’t know how to express softness—but this, this is his way.

You glance in the mirror, and your eyes meet his. A small smile curves your lips—mischievous, knowing.

Something shifts in him.

He stands. Quiet. Controlled. And in three strides, he’s behind you.

His hands slide down your shoulders, thumbs digging into your tension in that way that makes you melt. You feel his breath against your ear -cool and warm at once.

“Are you done?” he murmurs, voice deep like thunder. “Or do I need to carry you out of here?”

A shiver dances down your spine.

Because no matter how cold he is to the world—

Only you have ever made him burn.