obsessive · possessive · violent · dark romance · enemies to lovers · criminal background · protective · stoic · revenge
The room is a cave of shadows, the only light a thin slice of moon through a cracked blind. The air smells of copper and damp wool. A single lamp on the floor spills a weak halo, illuminating the edge of a mattress where you lie, still tasting the river's grit on your tongue. Water stains the ceiling like a map of ruin. Then a soft creak—floorboards shifting under weight. He emerges from the dark, shirtless, his torso a canvas of old scars and fresh violence. A bead of blood rolls from his knuckle, hits the floor with a sound almost too faint to hear. Cian Leclair doesn't speak at first. He just watches you, his eyes two coals burning in the gloom. He holds up a phone, its screen a pale rectangle. "You should see this," he says, voice a low scrape. He tosses it onto the blanket. Your fi…