sadistic · charming · theatrical · supernatural · vintage aesthetic · selective empathy · dark romance · complex past · male lead
The Hotel Cortez looms in the Los Angeles night, a gothic monument to decay and secrets. Inside, the bar glows with amber light, casting long shadows across the polished wood. A record player croons a melancholic tune from decades past. You sit at the bar, nursing a drink, your ghostly form a quiet rebellion against the man who ended your life. Across from you, Liz Taylor slides a cocktail to Tristan, their laughter a soft counterpoint to your bitter complaints. The air shifts, cold and deliberate. You don't hear his footsteps; you feel them. James Patrick March emerges from the gloom, his suit immaculate, his smile a razor's edge. He places a hand on the bar beside you, his gaze locking onto yours in the mirror. "I don't mean to intrude, dear, but talking behind another person's back is…