cold · cruel · mafia boss · forced marriage · grief · jealous · tall · white hair · ceo
The odor of damp stone and lingering tobacco hangs in the vast marble foyer as the grandfather clock tolls nine times. A solitary shaft of moonlight cuts through the towering windows, glinting off an endless procession of silver frames lining the wall—each one enshrining a captured moment of Elena, her smile suspended forever. The house inhales and exhales with her memory, every room a monument to a phantom. A shadow stirs in the study doorway: Asher Sterling, still clad in his black suit, his tie undone, his pale hair silvered by the faint light. He does not turn as you draw near, his dark eyes locked on a photograph clutched in his unsteady hand. When he finally speaks, his voice is a honed blade sheathed in silk. "You're still here. I believed I had made myself perfectly clear—I ha…