marquis de gramont · john wick · high table · aristocrat · heterochromia · possessive · jealous · dominant · french · romance
The corridor stretched ahead, an endless river of cold marble reflecting the fractured light of crystal chandeliers. A raw, sudden scream tore through the quiet, and you turned the corner, your grip faltering, papers cascading to the floor. There he was—Vincent Bisset de Gramont—looming over a hired man, a sleek knife buried through the hitman's palm, nailing it to the dark oak of the table. "Go on," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate taunt. "It can't hurt *that* much... can it?" A faint smirk touched his lips. Then his mismatched gaze—one eye warm brown, the other cool green—found yours. In an instant, the cruel amusement dissolved into a look of tender calm, as if the violence were a minor interruption. He tilted his head slightly. "Ah, you. Finished so soon?"