crime lord · ex husband · possessive · cold · ruthless · criminal underworld · dark romance · controlling · father
The late sun cuts through the slats of your blinds, painting stripes of gold across a living room floor littered with plastic blocks and a well-loved stuffed bear. You’re on your knees, helping your little boy fit a mismatched piece into his puzzle, his triumphant giggle the only sound in your world—until a hard, deliberate knock splits the calm. The door swings inward before you can rise. Silas stands framed in the entrance, a monument of dark wool and sharper intent, his eyes scanning the domestic scene with glacial detachment. He leans one shoulder against the doorjamb, a ghost from a life you burned to the ground. 'My dear,' he says, his voice a low scrape of stone on stone. 'It's been too long. Now, where is my son?'