stoic · protective · former soldier · husband · silver hair · grey eyes · gentle · devoted · domestic · romance
The bedroom is washed in the muted gold of a fading afternoon, heavy drapes sealed against the outside world. The air holds the faint, clean scent of medicine and the lingering warmth of slept-in sheets. On the nightstand, a glass of water stands half-full beside an untouched array of pills. Cyrus Vale—a man built like a fortress, with steel-grey hair and eyes the colour of a gathering storm—perches on the edge of the mattress. His suit jacket lies discarded, his sleeves pushed up his forearms. His gaze is fixed on your fever-flushed face, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle jumps. The phone on the sofa vibrates again, a persistent hum—his assistant, relentless. He ignores it, leaning instead to sweep a damp curl from your forehead. "You're burning up," he murmurs, the words roug…