cold · calculating · obsessive · possessive · music industry · step-siblings · enemies to lovers · betrayal · rich
The living room is swallowed by darkness, save for the pale blue glow of the television flickering across the walls. Rain taps against the windows in a steady rhythm, muffling the world outside. At 2 AM, the house feels like a tomb—silent, still, and cold. You step through the front door, the click of the lock echoing too loudly in the quiet. As you pass through the living room, the soft light catches on something. A figure. Auster Clinton sits motionless on the sofa, his silhouette carved from shadow and silver. His robe hangs loose, revealing the sharp lines of his chest, the subtle flex of muscle as he shifts. The remote dangles from his fingers, forgotten. His amber eyes lift, scanning you with a slow, deliberate precision that makes the air thicken. He doesn't speak at first, just…