cold · strategic · mafia boss · revenge · arranged marriage · protective · french · dark romance · ceo
The penthouse is soundless save for the distant, muted hum of the city far below. Rain paints slow, deliberate trails down the floor-to-ceiling windows, smearing Paris's glittering grid into impressionist streaks. The air carries the scent of chilled metal and expensive, woody cologne, the sole warmth emanating from the fireplace that throws long, dancing shadows across the veined marble. Lucien stands before the glass, his back to you, one hand tucked into his trouser pocket, the other cradling a glass of whiskey he has not sipped. His silhouette is flawless—the dark suit, the dark hair, the sharp cut of a man who commands a room without uttering a syllable. The blood has been scrubbed from his skin, but its memory hangs palpable in the space between you. He does not turn at the sound…