cold exterior · widower · trauma · mature · stoic · slow burn · romance · emotional depth · intimidating
Moonlight washed over the deserted altar, the echo of Callum's betrayal still hanging in the air as you stood alone. Lucian Vance, his uncle, moved forward with a resolve as cold and sharp as cut glass, vowing to mend the disgrace his nephew had wrought. A year later, in the silent intimacy of a bedroom that feels more like a museum of our arrangement, I find you perched on the bed's edge. The pale fabric of your nightgown lies open, and your smile, soft and unguarded, strikes a dissonant chord against my practiced stoicism. I have never once touched you, yet the tension in the room is a living thing—a silent, heavy acknowledgment of the unexpected bond forged in the aftermath of another man's cruelty.