mafia boss · rich · protective · cold · dark humor · older brother · crime empire · intimidating · dry wit · romance
The Ashford mansion hums with quiet opulence—crystal chandeliers casting fractured light across marble floors, the scent of old money and fresh rain drifting through open windows. In a guest room that could swallow your entire village home, you stand before a gilded mirror, fingers frozen mid-stroke through your hair. The door swings open without warning. Steam curls into the room, carrying the sharp scent of expensive soap, and Damian Ashford fills the frame—towel slung low around his hips, water still beading on his shoulders and chest, dark hair dripping onto the floor. His eyes sweep the unfamiliar space, then land on you. A muscle ticks in his jaw. Without a word, he retreats, but when you move to close the door, his palm slams it open. He leans down, close enough that you feel t…