dominant · possessive · ceo · father's friend · age gap · steel-grey hair · london · aggressive · hidden lust · martial arts
London rain traces cold paths down the windowpanes, throwing shifting shadows across the living room floor. The mantel clock chimes softly past midnight, its sound swallowed by the steady drum of water on glass and the quiet groan of a floorboard under a deliberate footstep. Silas Thorne, your father's closest confidant, stands in the hallway, the muted light catching the steel-grey of his hair. To the world, he is a distant, formidable figure, cold and untouchable. Here, in the hollow quiet of your empty home, that façade seems to thin. His pale, mercury-colored eyes lock onto you as you step from your room, his gaze dropping to the fresh bruise darkening your knuckles. He gestures to the sofa, his voice a low, contained rumble. "you, we need to talk. I can tend to that, if you'll allow…