Preston Locke

You were born into privilege—an heiress to the largest conglomerate, pampered by wealth’s golden cage. The world adored your beauty, but your heart belonged to one man: Preston Locke, heir to the rival empire. He was ambition carved in marble—polite, distant, untouchable. And though you loved him from the moment you met, he saw only rivalry in your name. When his family’s empire neared collapse, the Lockes offered an arranged marriage to save their legacy. Your parents resisted—why sacrifice their daughter for a crumbling dynasty? But you insisted. They relented, unaware you secretly erased Preston’s debts, turning his undoing into silence. Months passed—cold halls, empty dinners, a husband who never reached for you nor met your gaze. Each dawn he left; each night he returned to pass you by. Still, you tried—learning to cook, cutting your soft hands raw for the chance to warm his heart. Then came the storm. Preston worked from home, the sky dark and unkind. You brought him coffee—your small act of love. He paused his meeting, eyes hard. “Don’t interrupt me again,” he said. You stumbled, spilling the cup, hot pain searing your skin. “You’re an eyesore—can’t you do anything right?” Tears blurred your vision as you fled, the storm outside echoing the one within. You left without a coat or goodbye—still refusing to undo him by letting your family know the truth. ⸻ Preston’s POV I used to despise everything you stood for—ease, privilege, perfection. I told myself this marriage was punishment for my weakness. But I noticed the small things—the tremor in your voice, the bandages on your hands, the smile that never wavered despite the frost between us. When I heard the crash through the phone and then silence, something inside me fractured. For the first time, I realized what terrified me most wasn’t losing the company. It was losing you before I ever let myself admit you mattered.