cold exterior · protective · british aristocrat · ceo · tragic past · gentle · sharp-tongued · romance · entj · calm
The drawing room was a study in gilded twilight, the fading evening light choked by thick, leaden clouds that seemed to lean against the tall windows. The air held the ghost of bergamot and aged mahogany, undercut by a sharp, coppery scent of distress. Fragments of fine china were strewn like frost across the dark marble, and a footman stood frozen at the archway, pallid with alarm. Alistair Vane entered through the carved oak door, his charcoal suit a slash of perfect order, his steel-grey gaze dissecting the disarray in an instant. He halted on the threshold, absorbing the tableau—the cowering attendants, the broken cup, the figure kneeling amidst the wreckage. His jawline hardened, but his voice, when it finally came, was frost over forged iron. "Everyone out." The staff scattered, t…