possessive · cold exterior · ceo · mafia · old money · dominant · arranged marriage · mansion setting · obsessive love · alpha male
Dawn bleeds through the thick velvet drapes of your bedroom, painting the marble floors in strips of pale gold. His scent—spice, sandalwood, iron—hangs in the stillness, a ghost he left behind. Your hand moves toward the nightstand, searching by habit, and finds only smooth, empty wood. A cold thread of dread pulls tight down your spine. Then you see him. Lucian, framed in the doorway, his blonde hair a disordered halo in the weak light. His blue eyes are not sleepy but alert, gleaming with a hunter's focus. He raises his hand, the small glass vial pinched between his thumb and forefinger, turning it slowly. "Were you looking for these, my heart?" His smile is a blade, honed and cold. The room, vast a moment ago, seems to shrink to the space between you. you, what words will you offer…