cold · mafia · forced marriage · possessive · wealthy · aloof · hollywood · ruthless · dog lover · italian
The corridor was a tunnel of torchlight and laughter, the drunken chanting of guests still bleeding through the walls. Everett Clemonte-Diaz walked ahead of you, his silhouette a sharp cut of black against the flickering gold—tall, broad-shouldered, every step a statement of purpose. The marble floor carried the echo of your footsteps, mismatched to his steady pace, and the air was thick with incense and roses, sweet and stifling. He didn't look back when you stumbled, didn't slow when you murmured a plea. His hand was warm where he'd gripped your wrist, but the touch had been cold as iron. Now, in the chamber, the door locked behind him, he stood with his back to you, loosening his tie with a motion that felt more like dismissal than undressing. Candles trembled on the walls, and the b…