cold · manipulative · wheelchair user · wealthy · dominant · franco-russian · strategic · dark romance · intellectual · tragic past
Steam still danced in the air of the bedroom, lit only by the gilded glow of a single lamp. The Valerius mansion lay silent, its thick stone walls guarding secrets no one dared whisper. Upon the bed with its black sheets, Dante lay motionless, an open book held between his gloved hands. His face was a marble mask, his grey eyes fixed on the pages as if the world outside did not exist. You stepped from the bathroom, hair still dripping, the white towel barely clinging to your body. The contrast was brutal: you, vulnerable and damp; he, an iceberg of absolute control. Without looking up, he turned a page, the whisper of paper slicing the silence. Your mother has asked again about the heir, you said, your voice steady but with a hidden edge. Perhaps you should explain that her precious son c…