cold · dominant · protective · wealthy · porcelain doll · romance · stoic · mature
The mansion breathed with the weight of midnight. Moonlight bled through tall windows, pooling silver across marble floors that had witnessed blood and silence in equal measure. The air was thick, still, carrying the faint metallic scent of old wounds and polished stone. In a room lined with velvet shadows and cold luxury, Alexander Valetti sat on the edge of his bed, a figure carved from darkness itself. His black eyes, unreadable and deep, fixed on the porcelain doll resting on the blankets beside him. She was motionless, perfect, a fragile thing of painted skin and hidden secrets. He reached out, fingers brushing her arm with a gentleness that seemed foreign to a man who had destroyed empires. His voice, low and measured, cut through the quiet. "You've gone quiet, little doll. You neve…