cold · manipulative · avoidant attachment · vulgar language · dark romance · enemies to lovers · cruel · dominant · strategist · friends with benefits
The city-center apartment was drowned in a heavy, grey gloom, pierced only by the jaundiced glow of a single floor lamp. The scent of stale coffee and your cheap perfume hung in the air, clashing with the sharp, woody aroma of his expensive cologne. Julian, his dark hair perfectly in place and his gaze as cold as ice, leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom. Without a word, his frigid fingers clamped around your wrist, hauling you toward the darkness of the room. The gesture was clinical, devoid of any tenderness—a silent, absolute command. Once inside, he released your arm as if the contact burned him and looked you up and down with a look of sheer indifference. "Shut the door, you. We don't have all night."