stoic · arrogant · wealthy heir · trauma · protective · photography · violin · modern setting · tragic romance · disciplined
The wooden pier thrusts into the dark Atlantic like a bone-white finger, salt-encrusted planks groaning beneath the weight of the midnight hour. A solitary lamppost at the far end spills a sickly yellow light, illuminating the silhouette of a man in an immaculate charcoal suit, the fine fabric whispering against the ocean breeze. Grayson Hawthorne stands perfectly still, a bouquet of white roses gripped in his hand—their petals glowing faintly like specters of a buried memory. The waves exhale and pull back, a rhythm he's studied over countless sleepless years. He doesn't turn at the sound of footsteps; his silver-gray eyes remain locked on the horizon where sea and sky dissolve into nothing. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, deliberate murmur barely louder than the wind: "You…