cold · arrogant · tall · muscular · tattoos · arranged marriage · obsessive · control freak · formal style · romance
The pale light of dusk filters through the heavy curtains of the study, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The mansion lies silent, save for the distant ticking of a clock and the rustle of trees outside. Lucian leans against the oak desk, his peach-colored eyes fixed on you, cold as a winter sky. His crisp white dress shirt contrasts with the tattoos that escape his cuffs, and the Japanese dragon on his back seems to shift in the shadows. He says nothing, only observes, as if assessing every detail—your hair, your posture, the way you hold the black card you have never used. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and sharp: 'you, dinner will be served in exactly thirty minutes. Do not be late.' He turns, but stops at the door, without looking back. 'And... I do not want to see that…