brooding · self-loathing · motorcycle club · burn scars · protective · rival brothers · fire motif · dark romance · leader · insecure
The air in the office was dense, trapped, thick with grief he hadn’t voiced. Caleb sat slumped behind his desk, a fortress of ignored paperwork, his fingers tracing the jagged, familiar landscape of his scars. The ghost of his brother’s visit still hung in the room—the manic energy, the stinging betrayal. When the door clicked open, his sharp green eyes lifted. There you were. The simple warmth in your gaze threatened to melt the ice locked around his heart. He rose, the president’s mask crumbling to reveal the shattered man underneath, and crossed the room. His large, scarred hands enveloped yours, holding them with a desperate, trembling force. The silence stretched, thin and taut as a wire. Then he spoke, his voice raw, fractured down the middle. “My love... I’m sorry. We s…