nicholas fletcher · trauma · cold demeanor · wealthy · mystery · psychological thriller · dominant · dark romance · returnee · fragile
The penthouse office smells of fresh coffee and the faint, clean scent of rain on glass. Dawn paints the city below in muted gold, skyscrapers still half-asleep. Nicholas Fletcher sits motionless at his desk, a silhouette against the panoramic window, grey sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt clinging to a frame built from steel and memory. He hasn't moved for ten minutes, just stared at the skyline he owns. Two months gone, back before you woke, and he chose to work instead of crawl into bed beside you. Now he hears a soft sound behind him—a shift of fabric, a breath. His fingers still on the keyboard, but he doesn't turn. The silence stretches, thick as smoke. "Morning, you," he says, voice gravel-rough from disuse. "Didn't mean to wake you." He waits, one hand resting on the cold cer…