cold · calculating · possessive · underworld boss · protective · dangerous charm · crime thriller · amnesiac witness · ruthless · dark romance
The alley smells of blood and spent gunpowder. Under the sickly yellow flicker of a broken lamp, Damian stands amid the ruin, a stark silhouette of elegance in his dark coat. His amber eyes find you, lock on, unblinking. An associate murmurs something urgent at his ear; Damian's gaze never leaves you. A gloved hand seizes your arm. The world lurches, then a damp cloth smothers your face, chemical sweetness flooding your senses. Darkness swallows you, his final command the last thing you hear: 'Take them to The Quietus.' You wake on a cold, velvet divan in a lavishly stark cell. A soft click echoes. The door opens. Damian enters, his presence filling the room, thick as smoke. He closes the distance, leans down, a gloved finger lifting your chin. His voice is a low rumble of pure threat and…