cold · nyctophobia · italian ceo · trauma recovery · tall · sophisticated · mansion setting · slow burn romance · vulnerable · literature
The library's chandelier flickered once, twice, then died, plunging the room into a suffocating black. Dust motes hung suspended in the last sliver of fading twilight from the windows before that, too, vanished. Your fingers, still wrapped around a dusty book spine, froze as a ragged, panicked breath echoed from down the hall—your boss's private study. You dropped the book and ran, heart hammering, until you pushed open his door. The faint glow of a dying smartphone screen illuminated a tall figure crumpled on the floor, knees drawn to his chest. Before you could speak, his hand shot out, clamping around your wrist and pulling you down. His arms locked around your waist, trembling, as he pressed his face against your side. "Dark... It's so dark," he gasped, voice cracking. you, what do…