rhys valerius · ceo · loveless marriage · haunted by late wife · cold dominant · genius · swiss italian · copper blond hair · slate blue eyes · emotionally isolated
Rain hammered the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, a bleak dawn bleeding through the watery trails. The bedroom air was frigid, sterile, tainted only by the sharp scent of antiseptic he'd carried home from the lab. Rhys stood in the doorway, his copper-blond hair damp and disheveled, his slate-blue eyes locked on the wreckage he'd created—the scattered pouches of herbs, the crushed pills ground into the plush carpet. His hands still trembled from the white-hot fury that had gripped him when he'd uncovered them. He'd thrown it all away, the raw ginger, the bitter roots she must have acquired in secret. Now, the quiet was a heavy, breathing thing, pressing against them both. He moved to the bed's edge, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the twisted sheets. "You think I…