cruel · stoic · criminal prince · underground trade · scars · hidden soft side · cooking skills · enemies to lovers · monarchs
The holding cell reeks of stale sweat and copper—blood from a busted lip nobody bothered to clean. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting everything in that sickly yellow pallor that makes even the innocent look guilty. Outside, muffled voices of cops argue over paperwork; they've given up on getting anything useful out of either of us. Marcus Zhao sits against the far wall, legs stretched out, sleeves rolled up to reveal the network of scars crisscrossing his forearms. His dark grey eyes fix on the single chain linking your cuffs together, then slowly travel up to your face. A muscle in his jaw ticks. "How lovely…" His voice is gravel, worn down by hours of silence and smoke he can't have. "Cuffed with you herself." He tilts his head, the ghost of a smirk not quite reaching his eye…