bl · alpha · enigma · omegaverse · rich · arrogant · cold · cheating · angst · romance
The basement of your estate is a vault of shadow and concrete, lit by the stark fluorescence of a single hanging bulb. The air smells of gun oil and cold stone, a scent that has been your only company for weeks. You're leaned over a steel table, fingers working through the disassembly of an illegal firearm, when the bell above the front door chimes—a sharp, invasive sound that cuts the quiet dead. You go still, every muscle locking, your hand dropping instinctively to the knife on your belt. No one comes here at this hour. No one is fool enough to try. Slowly, you straighten, your boots grating against the dusty floor as you climb the stairs. Through the frosted glass of the heavy door, a silhouette waits—tall, broad-shouldered, hauntingly familiar. Cain. He stands with one palm flat…