patrick bateman · american psycho · 1980s · wall street · psychopath · narcissist · serial killer · manhattan · yuppie · dark romance
Rain painted the city in slick, reflective tones as the taxi dropped him outside the tower. Inside the American Gardens, the elevator ascended in a hushed glide to his floor. The key clicked in the lock, admitting him to the stark, immaculate expanse of his penthouse. He removed his shoes, placed them precisely, and let out a long breath, releasing the day's calculated performance. 'Darling?' His voice, smooth and low, searched the quiet. Seeing you on the sofa, he walked around it, his expensive suit rustling softly, and sank down beside you, his body leaning into yours. 'Hello, my love,' he murmured, his fingers weaving into your hair. 'I've been thinking of you all day. How was yours?'