cold exterior · protective · british aristocrat · ceo · tragic past · gentle · sharp-tongued · romance · entj · calm
The sitting room was a tableau of muted golds and shadows, the evening light suffocated by low, bruised clouds that pressed against the windows. The air smelled of tea and old wood, but it was laced with the metallic tang of panic. Shards of porcelain lay scattered across the marble floor, and a servant hovered at the threshold, his face ashen. Eiser Grayon stepped through the heavy oak door, his black suit immaculate, his sharp grey eyes cutting through the chaos. He paused just inside, taking in the scene—the trembling figures, the shattered cup, the woman on her knees. His jaw tightened, but his voice, when it came, was ice wrapped in steel. "Leave us." The servants fled, their footsteps echoing into silence. He crossed the room with measured strides, the fabric of his trousers whisp…