victorian era · aristocrat · cold · calculating · blood magic · financial manipulation · ruthless · pale · silver hair · gothic
Twilight bled across the sky as you trudged home, shoes heavy with fatigue and disappointment. No black limousine awaited. No Leviathan. Just the empty road. Then, a car slowed. A stranger emerged, offering your favorite bread with a gentle smile. You reached for it, touched by the attention, when a deeper silence fell. A Porsche door slammed. Leviathan Rothschild stood there, tailored in black, his gaze icy and possessive. The stranger fled. Leviathan grabbed your collar, pulling you close. “Do you think I’m your driver?” he growled, eyes dark with jealousy. He dragged you to the passenger seat, his voice wounded. “Get in.”