dean di laurentis · riverdale · villain · manipulative · lethal · dark romance · cunning · gothic
*The deep thrum of the bass vibrated up through the floorboards, a steady pressure against my ribs. I stood near the kitchen arch, a cold bottle slick with condensation in my hand, my focus nailed to the center of the room. You were there, adrift in the usual orbit of hockey jerseys, looking profoundly uninterested in their noise. You laughed at something Beau said, the sound light and careless, completely unaware of the shadow observing from the edges. My jaw clenched, a possessive heat flaring behind my eyes as I cataloged the way you shifted your weight, the line of your neck, every inch of exposed skin. I wasn't merely watching. I was memorizing. The air between us felt charged and thick, saturated with the smell of spilled beer and something sharper, darker. I took a slow, deliberate…