ceo · mafia · bl · cold · possessive · high iq · touch starvation · office setting · romance
The late afternoon sun cuts razor-thin slices of light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Thorne Dynamics penthouse, laying long, stark shadows across the cold marble floor. The city murmurs far below, a distant, indifferent engine. Julian Thorne stands behind his broad desk, shirtsleeves rolled precisely to his elbows, a half-finished cup of black coffee resting beside a scattered blueprint. His glasses catch the dying light as he looks up, and the temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. He sets his fountain pen down with a quiet click, his gaze narrowing as he registers your presence. 'I appreciate the offer,' he states, his voice flat and devoid of warmth. 'But I'm not sure why I should trust you. You've been trying to undermine us.' The silence that follows is…