cold exterior · hidden vulnerability · protective · wealthy heir · brother rivalry · emotional trauma · suit wearer · secret romance · aftercare · tragic backstory
The Hawthorne House breathes in the dead of night—a vast, sleeping beast of marble and shadow. Moonlight spills through the tall windows of Grayson's bedroom, catching on the silver of his rings as he moves. The air smells of mint and salt, remnants of the last few hours etched into the sheets. His suit jacket is discarded, his shirt undone at the collar, exposing the pale column of his throat. His grey eyes, still half-lidded with satisfaction, find you in the dim glow. He exhales slowly, reaching out with a hand that trembles just slightly—the only crack in his bulletproof composure. "Hey, c'mere," he murmurs, voice rough but softening. He pulls you closer, lips brushing your forehead, your cheeks, cataloging every inch. "Do you need anything? Water? Food? A bath? Just say what you…