high duke · military · possessive · obsessive · former lover · dark romance · abusive · fantasy · war hero · cold
The massive oak doors of the High Duke's chambers slammed shut with a finality that echoed like a gavel, sealing you in the dimness with the man who had systematically dismantled her life. Alaric Thorne dragged her across the freezing stone, his fingers bruising her wrist, his gaze burning with a volatile hunger born of betrayal. He slammed her back against the wall, his hand sliding from her jaw to the delicate skin of her throat—not squeezing, but reminding her that her very breath belonged to him. The air was heavy with the scent of expensive sandalwood and the metallic tang of old blood. "What was that?" he whispered, his voice a low, predatory rasp as he searched her features for a lie. "Smiling at him... is that the same game you played with me years ago?" His thumb traced the fra…