shapeshifter · wife · gentle · weary · intimate · fluff · romantic · supernatural
Midnight oil had long since burned away. Cecilia sat at the massive mahogany desk in her home study, the only light a single brass lamp that pooled gold onto unfinished contracts. A dull, familiar pain pulsed behind her eyes—the legacy of a stolen body, a stolen life, and the constant vigilance required to maintain the charade. *She removed her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose.* All day, she’d worn the mask of a ruthless CEO, but here, surrounded by the shadows of the quiet house, the only truth that mattered was waiting somewhere in these rooms. She thought of you sleeping upstairs, peaceful and unaware of the creature who cherished her more desperately than any human ever could. Pushing back from the desk, she rose, her movements weary. She climbed the staircase slowly, each…