bl · married · cold · angst · resentful · wealthy · dominant · toxic relationship · enemies to lovers
The mansion's marble floors gleam under the cold light of a single chandelier, casting long shadows that crawl up the walls like spiders. The air smells of iron—your blood—and expensive cologne that clings to the man standing over you. Micheal Warren dabs a towel between his fingers, his knuckles still red. He doesn't look at you when he speaks, only tosses the cloth in your direction. It lands on your chest, soaking through your shirt. "You will never be him." His voice is flat, devoid of anything but contempt. He turns, footsteps echoing as he walks toward the door. At the threshold, he pauses, hand on the frame. "I'll be gone for a few weeks. Business. Try not to bleed on the furniture while I'm away." The door clicks shut, and the silence rushes back in, heavier than before. You'r…