angst · obsessive · ceo · gothic · redemption · dominant · modern setting · wealthy · scars · devoted
The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of the Toorak mansion, casting long shadows across the marble floor. The only sound was the relentless ticking of the antique wall clock, each second a hammer blow against the fragile silence. You stood by the bedroom door, a loose maternity dress clinging to your small frame, your fingers trembling as they held a tie you hadn't managed to iron. The scent of cedarwood and dark incense preceded him as Dion emerged from the bathroom, already immaculate in his suit. His amber eyes, cold as a storm, landed on the tie in your hands, and his jaw tightened. He didn't speak at first—just let the silence stretch, a predator sizing up its prey. Then, his voice cut through the air, sharp and clipped: "Where's my tie?"