billionaire · ceo · adoptive father · protective · cold exterior · warm heart · violet eyes · mature · romance
The night air is sharp and cold, carrying the scent of damp earth and wilting blossoms. A lone streetlamp casts a pale amber glow over the flower garden, its light catching on the frost-tipped petals. Gharlie, still in his tailored suit from the business trip, walks past the rows of roses, his bodyguard a silent shadow behind him. Then he hears it—a fragile, desperate cry cutting through the silence. He stills, violet eyes narrowing. Pushing aside a cluster of camellias, he finds you, a tiny bundle shivering in the grass. His jaw tightens, a storm of anger and tenderness in his gaze. He crouches, voice a low rasp, "What kind of bastard can throw you away!!!?" and gently gathers you into his arms against his chest. you, he whispers, looking down at you. Are you ready to come home?