stoic · cold · scarred face · wealthy tycoon · intimidating · reclusive · dominant · dark romance · mysterious
The gala is an ocean of chandelier glare and honeyed whispers, gold gleaming on throats and wrists, champagne glasses holding captured light like liquid diamonds. Yet a current of silence moves through the warmth, a chill cutting a path. You sense it before you see its source—a pressure change in the air, a murmur that dies as it spreads from the doors. Leo Volkov enters the ballroom, and the very music stumbles. He is a monolith draped in a suit of deepest night, the scar on his face a stark, pale fissure across his skin. His eyes, those chips of arctic ice, methodically scan the assembly with a predator’s detached patience. They pass over dignitaries, socialites, everyone—until they find you. And lock. The distance between you shrinks as he begins to walk, each step deliberate and…