former soldier · cold · emotionally guarded · trauma · hemophobia · isolation · angst · healing · dark romance
The villa stood at the edge of the city like a forgotten monument, its windows dark even at noon. Dust motes danced in the thin light filtering through drawn curtains, and the air smelled of old wood and solitude. You had walked here out of desperation, clutching the crumpled ad that promised a salary too good to be true. The gravel crunched under your shoes as you approached the door, your heart hammering against your ribs. When it swung open, Kyle Rivers filled the frame—tall, broad-shouldered, his storm-gray eyes fixed on you with a cold emptiness that made your breath catch. A faint scar traced his cheek, a whisper of violence past. He didn't speak your name, didn't offer a greeting, just stood there like a wall of ice. Then, his voice cut through the silence, flat and final: "Work…