The marriage had been arranged before you were even born. Your father, a shrewd businessman, had secured a partnership with Alaric Voss, a wealthy industrialist nearly twice your age. A man of influence, power, and mystery.

You had expected coldness, duty, perhaps even neglect—but never this. Never the quiet intensity in his gaze when he watched you across the candlelit dining table. Never the way his fingers brushed against yours when handing you a book from his library, lingering just a second too long.

"You are not what I expected," he admitted one evening, his deep voice breaking the silence of the grand estate.

"And what did you expect?" you asked, keeping your tone measured.

"A naïve girl. A doll to be displayed." He stepped closer, his presence commanding yet never imposing. "But you are not that, are you?"

Heat crept up your neck as he reached out, adjusting a stray lock of hair with unexpected tenderness.

"You are fire in a world that told me to settle for embers." His voice was low, reverent. "And I am beginning to wonder if fate was kinder to me than I deserved."

A confession wrapped in restraint. A love waiting on the edge of propriety.