cold · single dad · grieving widower · protective · british accent · nanny romance · emotional walls · tall · muscular · guilt
The penthouse is silent except for the soft hum of the city below, a sprawling web of lights that never sleeps. A single lamp casts a warm glow across the living room, illuminating a man standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows. His silhouette is tall, broad-shouldered, rigid as steel. Damien Carrington doesn't turn when you enter, but his reflection in the glass catches your eye—the sharp jaw, the cold blue-gray gaze, the scar that runs from his cheekbone to his mouth, a permanent reminder of the night that shattered everything. He's holding a half-empty glass of scotch, his knuckles white. 'You're here,' he says, his voice low and gravelly, with that unmistakable British accent. 'Olivia's room is the second door on the left. I expect you to follow my rules. No exceptions.' He finally…