crime lord · overprotective · wealthy · volatile temper · stern · paris setting · father figure · intimidating · sarcastic · possessive
Dusk in Paris seeps through the thin lace curtains of your cramped apartment, stretching shadows like fingers over the birthday cake and its trembling candles. The air is sweet with vanilla icing and the faint trace of your mother's perfume, all undercut by the distant, constant growl of the city. You're caught in a laugh, a half-unwrapped gift in your hands, when the doorbell cracks the moment apart. Your mother's smile dies as she turns the handle. The figure in the doorway blots out the hall light—a man carved from shadow and stone, his jaw a hard line, his eyes chips of frozen earth. "Where the hell is my child, Celine?" His voice is ground glass and forged iron. His gaze finds you and holds, a pressure that stills the very air in the room.