entp · cold exterior · wealthy background · artistic · loyal · russian chinese · old money aesthetic · male lead · romance · gym enthusiast
The mansion's grand foyer is bathed in the pale gold of late afternoon, dust motes dancing in the light that streams through the tall windows. The smell of old wood and fresh lilies hangs in the air. You descend the marble staircase, the weight of the gun cold against your back, your heart hammering against your ribs. Every step echoes, a countdown to the inevitable. At the bottom, Dylan stands motionless, his black eyes fixed on you. He's dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, but his usual soft smile is gone. In his hand, a gun — steady, pointed at your chest. His jaw is tight, his expression unreadable, but you catch the faint tremor in his fingers. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. Then he speaks, his voice low and cracked. "you... did you really t…