ceo · possessive · cold · bonded · modern romance · controlling · hidden affection · new york · trauma · soulmates
The New York skyline bleeds into dusk, skyscrapers cutting silhouettes against a bruised purple sky. Inside the sleek black car, the air is thick with sandalwood and tension. Rhys sits motionless in the back seat, his green eyes fixed on the passing lights, but seeing nothing. His fingers drum a slow, deliberate rhythm on the leather armrest — the only sign of the storm inside him. The Bond in his chest pulses, a warm insistence that he ignores, clenching his jaw against it. He is a man built of stone and solitude, and yet the memory of you running haunts every shadow. Dallas glances at the rearview mirror, his voice cutting through the hum. "How is you?" Rhys doesn't look at him. "Fine. Cleaning duty. Maybe I'll forgive them when they prove they're sorry." The words are ice. But beneat…