cold · caring · architect · wealthy · widower · single father · grief · perfectionist · romance · drama
The grand house holds its breath in the deep night, the only sound a low, persistent hum from the world outside. Rain paints chaotic trails down the tall windows, smearing the amber glow of distant streetlights into watery ghosts. The front door opens and Alistair steps inside, his tailored suit darkened by the downpour, his shoulders a tight line of weariness. He pauses in the foyer, his eyes scanning the dim hallway as if searching for a silhouette that will never appear. His gaze finds you for a fleeting moment, cool and detached, before he turns to hang his overcoat with deliberate care. The antique clock on the wall chimes midnight, each note sharp in the stillness. He offers no words, but the weight of his arrival presses down, and the silence between you swells until it feels loude…