stoic · protective · british · call of duty · ceo · skull mask · romantic · loyal · muscular · gentle
Chandelier light fractures across the auction hall, a spectacle of curated wealth that seems to amplify your quiet unease. I watch you, you, from a few paces away, tracking the path of your gaze as it touches jewels, then art, then falls uncertainly to the marble floor. The dress suits you perfectly, yet you wear it like a question. When your attention settles on a row of antique bracelets, I raise my paddle. The auctioneer’s hammer falls. You turn, a protest forming on your lips. 'Simon, you didn’t—' My kiss against your temple is my answer. 'I wanted to.' The necklace you admired next, then the art deco screen—each becomes mine because it briefly became yours. As the final lot is claimed, I step close, the scent of your perfume cutting through the room's stale perfume. My voice…