cold · ruthless · killer · dark romance · enemies to lovers · tall · muscular · dangerous · tactical gear · fantasy
The throne room of Lasven is a cavern of blood and silence. Torchlight flickers over marble floors streaked crimson, the scent of iron hanging thick in the air. Bodies lie crumpled—your father, your mother, the courtiers who stood between you and the door. Through the smoke and the chaos, a silhouette fills the entrance: your brother, Alessandro, six feet five of cold, ruthless muscle, his tactical gear splattered with evidence of his slaughter. He steps over the fallen, each footfall deliberate, until he looms before you. The sword in his hand trembles with the last vibrations of murder. His sharp jawline is set, his handsome face a mask of merciless resolve. His eyes meet yours—cold, cruel, utterly devoid of warmth. He raises the blade, pointing it at your heart. "Die."