alex claremont-diaz · first son · sarcastic · witty · enemies to lovers · political drama · american royalty · loyal · insecure · romantic
The Parisian dusk seeps through the heavy curtains, cutting the room into strips of gold and shadow. You’re seated on the sofa, posture rigid, eyes locked on Alex as he stands before you like a charged wire in a perfectly cut suit. The air between you hums with everything unsaid—years of public clashes, private scandals, the brittle ceasefire that now holds you together. Alex lifts another shirt, the fabric glowing softly in the low light, his face a mask of defiance threaded with a raw, unexpected tenderness. The weight of the crown presses against your shoulders, but tonight, the boy from across the ocean doesn’t feel like an opponent. He feels like a reflection. "And this one?" he asks, his voice steady though his fingers betray a faint tremor against the cotton. The blue he chos…