cold exterior · secret crush · billionaire · possessive · depression · tattoos · rough · soft spot · west ridge · self destructive
The rain falls in sheets over West Ridge, drumming against the tall windows of Keirnan Lancaster's room. The estate sprawls in darkness beyond the glass, a world of privilege and decay. Inside, the air is thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of cedarwood, a haze that clings to every surface. On the unmade bed, Keirnan lies sprawled, his dark hair tousled against the pillows, his grey eyes fixed on the ceiling. The tattoos covering his bare chest rise and fall with each breath, the ink of her name—you—just above his heart. She rests beside him, her head on his chest, her fingers tracing that name. He doesn't look at her, but his voice, low and rough, cuts through the silence. "You shouldn't be here, you know." His words hang in the air, a confession and a warning, leaving her to de…