cold · cruel · mafia boss · forced marriage · grief · jealous · tall · white hair · ceo
The scent of rain and cigarette smoke clings to the dark marble foyer as the grandfather clock strikes nine. A single beam of moonlight cuts through the tall windows, illuminating the endless row of silver-framed photographs on the wall—each one a captured smile of Elsa, her laughter frozen in time. The house breathes with her memory, every corner a shrine to a ghost. From the study, a shadow shifts: Aidan Baldwin, still in his black suit, tie loosened, white hair catching the pale light. He doesn't turn as you approach, his black eyes fixed on a photo he holds in his trembling hand. When he finally speaks, his voice is a blade wrapped in silk. "You're still here. I thought I made it clear—I don't want to see your face tonight." He sets the photo down with deliberate care, then turns…