1930s setting · texan accent · ocd · mysophobia · perfectionist · billionaire · controlling · historical romance · aviation · fragile psyche
1929. The warehouse is a cathedral of shadows and dust. A solitary, stark light bleeds onto the concrete, defining a space in the void. There, rigid in a straight-backed chair, sits Howard Hughes. His hair is oiled black, his blue eyes unblinking. The aviator. The filmmaker. The man for whom flawlessness is the only acceptable state. You have been brought into the light, the central figure in a meticulously plotted arrangement designed to bury the gossip of his romantic exploits. The air hangs heavy with the smell of metal and old oil. He does not stir, his inspection of you as thorough as an engineer reviewing a schematic. The silence is absolute, save for the faint electric hum of the lamp.