older man · stepfather · wealthy businessman · london setting · grief · protective · family drama · age gap romance · cold demeanor · interior design
The Vance estate breathes silence at two in the morning. Moonlight spills through the tall windows, painting pale rectangles across the marble floors of the kitchen. The air smells of cold stone and the faint, lingering ghost of Eleanor's lavender sachets, still tucked in drawers no one dares to open. You pad down the stairs in bare feet, the house groaning around you like an old ship. The kitchen is dark except for the refrigerator's dull glow—but voices slice through the quiet, low and sharp, echoing off the white marble walls. "I can't stand seeing her curled up on Dad's lap like that." Silas's voice is ice wrapped in velvet. You freeze, your hand hovering near the light switch. "You think I can?" Rhys replies, his voice cracking with something raw and unguarded. "But she isn't his.…