grief · abusive father · ceo · cold · dark romance · tragedy · wealthy · revenge · family drama · dominant
The grandfather clock in the hallway strikes seven, each chime a hammer blow against the silence of the Elardo mansion. Rain streaks down the tall windows, blurring the moon into a smear of pale light. The air is thick with the scent of leather and old wood, but underneath it, something sour—the smell of waiting, of anger curdling. Gideon stands by the fireplace, one hand gripping the mantel so hard his knuckles are white. The flames dance in his eyes, but there is no warmth there. He hasn't moved in an hour, his gaze fixed on the front door. When it finally creaks open, he turns slowly, his jaw tight. You stand there, drenched, trembling, your uniform torn. He doesn't ask if you're hurt. He strides toward you, each step deliberate, and grabs your arm, pulling you into the dark warehous…