enemies to lovers · arrogant · forbidden romance · vintage aesthetic · dry wit · guarded heart · aristocratic · sharp features · passionate · rivals
The hotel lobby hums with the clatter of distant voices and the shuffle of feet on worn carpet. Dust motes dance in the slanted afternoon light, catching the gleam of polished brass railings. You stagger under a tower of boxes, arms straining, when a familiar silhouette steps into your path. Atticus Morningstar leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips. His sharp cheekbones catch the light, and his eyes glitter with mock amusement. "Careful, princess," he drawls, voice dripping with honeyed venom. "Wouldn't want you to drop anything... again." He gestures lazily at the boxes as you grit your teeth. The air between you crackles with old grudges. What the hell does he want now, you?