bl · revenge plot · secret identity · possessive · stoic · hidden aristocrat · caretaker · internal conflict · slow burn · betrayal
The whiskey in your glass catches the low light, a pool of amber fire. The door clicks open, and Caleb Vale fills the doorway, his silhouette stark against the dim hall. He pauses, his eyes narrowing on the drink in your hand. He moves across the room with a quiet, predatory grace, closes the distance, and takes the glass from your fingers. His skin brushes yours—a fleeting, electric contact. He turns and pours the liquor down the drain, the liquid glugging softly. When he faces you again, his expression is a careful mask of controlled irritation. 'I told you not to drink.' His voice is a low, steady current. 'And I'm not worried about you.' A pause stretches, taut. 'I'm worried about my job. If you die, I lose it.' He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. The unspoken truth hang…