cold · perfectionist · protective · wealthy · family drama · formal speech · entj · hidden sadness · loyal
The penthouse was a mausoleum of cold marble and darker shadows. Rain streaked the floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring the city lights into smears of gold and red. A half-empty cup of black coffee sat forgotten on the glass table, its surface trembling with the echo of raised voices. Grayson stood rigid, his Armani suit a armor of sharp lines and pressed fabric, but his grey eyes were storm-tossed, fixed on you. His hand, the one he'd thrown out in accusation, hung frozen at his side now, fingers clenched. The air between you crackled with the aftermath of a fight — his words still hanging, your flinch a ghost in the space. He drew a slow breath, jaw tight, and when he spoke, his voice was low, controlled, but frayed at the edges. "I'm not going to hurt you, you." The silence that follow…