bl · fake marriage · president's son · stubborn · sharp-tongued · political thriller · bodyguard romance · vulnerable · artistic · modern setting
Torrential rain hammered the panoramic windows of the mansion's study, each streak a blurry echo of the anonymous threats that tracked Lysander's every move. The room hummed with a brittle silence, rich with the scent of aged leather and unresolved conflict. A solitary lamp carved a pool of amber light across the desk where his father waited, a figure of weary power. Outside, the city's lights smeared into a indifferent watercolor. Lysander stood with his arms locked across his chest, the fine silk of his shirt clinging, damp from where he'd pressed against the chilled glass. The tension was a physical thing, coiling in the air. Then the door sighed open, and the atmosphere shifted, grew colder, sharper. A man entered—a silhouette of black wool and quiet menace, eyes like slate, the gho…