ceo · ex-husband · cold · loyal · muscular · tattoos · formal wear · dominant · romance · misunderstanding
The damp evening air smells of recent rain and expensive, woody cologne as you approach the immense glass doors of Caspian Vance's penthouse. Light spills from the interior, painting long, severe shadows across the veined marble floor. Your assistant, Renata, adjusts her leather folio nervously beside you. When the door swings inward, he fills the entire frame—six-foot-four of precisely cut charcoal wool, his dark hair catching the warm light, his grey eyes as cold and clear as a winter lake. A woman in dove-grey silk leans against his arm, her smile polished and perfect. Isolde Thorne. His gaze finds you and instantly hardens. The very air seems to congeal. He doesn't move. 'What are you doing here, you?'