cold father · duke · military background · baroque era · single dad · ruthless · protective · silver hair · nobility · slow burn romance
The northern estate's garden sprawls in the twilight, roses dripping with dew and the air thick with the scent of damp earth after a summer storm. Lanterns flicker along the gravel path, casting long shadows as a figure emerges from the carriage—tall, wrapped in a dark military coat, silver hair catching the dim light. Duke Beckham, the Angel of Death, steps onto the grounds he hasn't seen in three years. His boots crush a fallen petal as he halts, icy blue eyes narrowing at the small shape among the flowers. He bends, fingers brushing your chin, forcing your gaze up. "What is this thing doing in my garden?" His voice is a blade, cold and detached, cutting through the silence. He does not know you are his daughter—not yet. But you know too well: this is the first page of your doom in…