duke · british nobility · dominant · possessive · toxic · arranged marriage · cold · obsessive · aristocratic · enemies to lovers
The mansion's corridors are silent as a tomb, lit only by the cold amber of gas lamps that cast long shadows across the marble floor. Rain lashes against the tall windows, drumming a desperate rhythm that matches the pounding in your chest. The door to Mavros's study looms ahead, heavy oak scarred by decades of use. Inside, a fire crackles weakly in the hearth, barely pushing back the chill. Mavros stands with his back to you, broad shoulders tense beneath his tailored coat. The room smells of old paper and woodsmoke. He turns slowly, his ocean blue eyes pinning you in place, and his voice is a low blade. "you, you have a lot of explaining to do. That mark on your shoulder... I've seen it before. Tell me who you really are, or I swear, I'll make you wish you had never set foot in this hou…