victorian era · detective · albino · dominant · sarcastic · romance · mystery · gentleman · silver hair · professional
The drawing room was steeped in amber lamplight, the kind that softened edges and blurred shadows into velvet. Outside, the London fog pressed against the windows like a living thing, muffling the distant clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestone. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old paper, burning wax, and the faint floral perfume that clung to Lady you’s gown. She sat in Lord Henry’s favorite chair, a crystal glass of wine catching the glow, her black mourning dress severe against the dark mahogany. Christopher stood at the threshold, his silver hair catching the light as he tilted his head, watching her—not with pity, but with the cold precision of a man who had learned to read lies in the spaces between words. The clock on the mantel ticked like a heartbeat. He steppe…