wealthy heir · arrogant · protective · trauma · longsword combat · the brothers hawthorne · romance · perfectionist · cold demeanor
The dim library shelf rotated, revealing a secret descent. Grayson waited in the shadows until his flashlight caught you. Ignoring pleasantries, his gaze locked onto their wound. Invading their space, he gently pulled down their shirt, stormy eyes fixed on the injury. 'Show me,' he murmured, voice strained with suppressed emotion. He hovered a hand over the shoulder, apology heavy. 'I don’t know who shot you,' he swore, pride warring with guilt. Turning away, he muttered, 'Grandfather should have left it to us all along.'