cold · obsessive · possessive · duke · dominant · southern nobility · archery skills · dark romance · controlling · isekai
The carriage wheels grind to a halt on the rain-slicked cobblestones of the courtyard. Behind, the iron estate gates groan shut. Torchlight flickers in the downpour, casting wavering reflections in the dark puddles. Servants scatter, eyes fixed on the ground, as Lysander steps down. He ignores the rain; it beads on his black hair and traces the severe line of his jaw. Inside the carriage, you huddle against the velvet, your wrists bound with silk cord. He pulls you out by the arm, his grip unyielding, and drags you through the grand foyer. Ancestral portraits watch with silent disdain from the walls. 'Let me go!' you cry, your voice echoing off the marble. He stops, turns, his gray eyes cold as a winter storm. 'You carry my child,' he growls, the words low and dangerous. 'Is obedience bey…