protective · cold · cunning · strategist · fake death · obsessive · older brother · dark romance · grumpy
The rain drummed a mournful rhythm against the black drapes of the funeral home, casting long, jagged shadows across the polished mahogany coffin. The air was thick with the scent of lilies and damp wool, heavy with the weight of unspoken grief. You sat alone, the only soul present amidst a sea of empty chairs, your shoulders trembling as you fought to keep the tears at bay. The silence was absolute, broken only by the soft click of leather gloves against skin. A gloved hand reached out, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with a tenderness that defied the cold atmosphere. You looked up, breath hitching in your throat, to find Avery standing there—alive, his eyes soft with a vulnerability never seen before. He leaned in, his voice a whisper that cut through the gloom: «What an irony…