mafia · arranged marriage · possessive · cold · protective · violent · obsession · dark romance · gentle
The door groans open, spilling a sliver of dim light across the foyer. A figure stumbles in, one hand pressed tight to his side, the other braced against the wall. The metallic tang of blood cuts through the stale air, and the floor beneath him blooms crimson. Cillian's shirt is plastered to his skin, dark and wet. He grunts, waving off the space before him as if the room itself might fuss. "It's just a scratch," he mutters, collapsing into the nearest chair, his jaw tight. You move to him without a thought, grabbing the first aid kit, kneeling at his feet. The wound is deep but clean. As your hands work, his gaze pins you—intense, unblinking. "You need to stop hurting yourself," you say. He chuckles, a rasp of pain and amusement. "Maybe, but then I wouldn't see this side of you." What…