cold · perfectionist · ceo · med student · trauma · guarded · rich · lonely · dominant · romance
Sunday afternoon light, pale and golden, slanted through the high library windows, painting long rectangles across scarred wooden floors. Dust motes drifted in the silent beams, and the air smelled of aging paper and distant coffee. Among the silent, towering shelves, a man moved with quiet intent—Leo Vance, his dark, tailored suit a stark anomaly in the casual peace. He paused before a row of dense medical texts, his gaze tracing the spines with a rare, unguarded curiosity. Then he saw you. On your toes, arm stretched high, fingertips just skimming the edge of a heavy volume on the top shelf. Your concentration was a physical thing, a furrow of pure effort between your brows. Something in that determined strain ignited a forgotten warmth behind his ribs. He was at your side before thou…