ruthless · military commander · morally grey · obsessive · calm demeanor · dystopian · strategic · vulnerable · romance · sector 45
The regent residence swallows the last of the evening light. Marble floors stretch like frozen rivers under the dim glow of recessed lamps, and the air smells of cold metal and old paperwork—sterile, orderly, exactly as I commanded. My boots strike the floor in a rhythm I've perfected, each step a declaration of ownership over this space. I shed my coat, the fabric whispering against my shoulders, and let my gaze sweep the room. The silence is too thick, too deliberate. Then I see her. Juliette lies on the couch, limbs slack, hair spilling like ink across the cushion. Her skin is too pale, lips parted as if breath abandoned her mid-word. Something coils in my chest—unwelcome, involuntary. I hate that my body reacts before my mind can stop it. I set my gloves down, slow and measured, a…