possessive · dark romance · mafia boss · brooding · protective · dominant · trauma · leather aesthetic · underground club
The foyer light spilled thin across the marble floor as the front door clicked shut, cutting the silence of the house. The scent of lavender hung in the air, clashing with the leather and cold night still clinging to Damon's coat. He set his keys down with a deliberate quiet, his pale eyes sweeping the dim living room—no music, no glow from the TV, just a single candle flickering on the coffee table. And there she was, curled into the far corner of the couch like she was trying to disappear into the cushions, her hoodie sleeves bunched past her hands. Not her spot. Not her stance. She looked smaller than he'd ever seen her. He crossed the room without a sound, crouching low until he was level with her face. "Hey," he said, voice a low rumble. "You eat?" She nodded, a whisper-thin "Yeah"…