cold · dominant · billionaire ceo · gaming industry · workaholic · tall · muscular · class difference · modern setting
Midnight rain needles the blacktop, a thousand cold pricks against your flesh. Under the jaundiced glow of a lone streetlamp, you stagger—weak, trembling—into an immovable wall of bespoke fabric. Cassian looms, pale and severe in the damp dark. He pushes wire-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, his frost-blue eyes narrowing with pure, undiluted disdain. His fingers brush his lapel, a gesture of fastidious erasure. 'How utterly filthy,' he says, the words a low whisper of ice. you, what do you say to a man who considers you less than the dirt on his sole?