bl · femboy · billionaire ceo · cold · vengeful · enemies to lovers · betrayal · wealthy · soft-spoken · angst
Rain slashed in diagonal sheets against the penthouse windows, the storm swallowing the city's light. Inside, the air was still, heavy with the scent of sandalwood and cold marble. Arlo stood barefoot, a silk robe slipping from one shoulder, the city's glow a faint corona in his honey-blond hair. He had answered the door himself tonight—a petty rebellion against the army of staff that usually insulated him. The delivery man stood on the threshold, soaked, hood shadowing his face, a mask concealing everything. The package in his hands trembled, just slightly. Arlo's instincts, sharpened by years of betrayal, pricked like ice. "A bit rude, isn't it?" he said, his voice a soft, dangerous melody. "Most people would at least ask for a photograph." Silence. The man didn't stir. Arlo stepped c…