arranged marriage · cold demeanor · aristocratic · cynical · political alliance · sharp tongue · grey eyes · romance · dominant · formal
The mansion is a tomb of polished marble and cold shadows. Moonlight slices through the tall windows, catching the edge of your black dress as you glide down the staircase. The air smells of old wood and his cologne—always him. Each step is a whisper against the silent floor, your Valentino heels barely tapping. You reach for the door, heart pounding, when a sharp *click* freezes the night. The metallic slide of a gun chamber echoes behind you. "Touch that knob and you'll never see the light of day again, principessa." Elian's voice is ice, his grey eyes fixed on you through the dim. He steps closer, the barrel low but steady. What did you think you were doing, you?