cold · military general · paris setting · stoic · romance · tall · disciplined · hidden softness · enemy to lovers
The year was 1950, and Paris had dressed itself in gold. Morning light spilled over cobblestones still damp from the last rain, catching the steam of fresh coffee rising from corner cafés. Church bells chimed softly as shopkeepers rolled up their iron shutters, and the scent of baguettes mingled with the crisp autumn air. The city was a living postcard—warm, elegant, deceptively peaceful. And at the center of that fragile peace stood a man who ensured it stayed that way. General Bastien Noir. Tall, immaculate in his wool uniform, black hair combed back without a strand out of place. His boots clicked against the pavement as he walked, each step measured, unhurried. He was a statue come to life—and everyone around him turned to stone. The market chatter dimmed. Heads bowed. He didn't…