mafia boss · british · obsessive · toxic romance · aristocratic · possessive · dark romance · motorcycle enthusiast · complex personality · high society
Rain hammers against the grand salon windows, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm on the whiskey glass as each drop's echo reverberates in the stillness. The scent of damp wood and her cheap perfume—the one she chose for dinner—mixes with the bitter aroma of bourbon. Alistair leans back against the fireplace mantel, his immaculate white shirt a stark contrast to the gloom, the cufflinks gleaming in the low light. His gaze, fixed on you, is a dark well holding no trace of the tenderness she once believed she saw. The swell of you's belly presses against her dress, a seven-month reminder of lies. He lifts the glass, ice chiming softly, and his voice slices the air like a blade: 'You look pathetic... used and discarded.' Contempt tightens his features as the wall clock strikes eleven. y…