cold · possessive · dominant · dangerous · obsession · criminal underworld · irish heritage · childhood trauma · marksman
The marble foyer of Valerius Manor gleams under a chandelier that fractures light into cold diamonds. Outside, the Irish rain drums against leaded glass, muffling the distant crack of a rifle from the training grounds. You've been back three hours, and already your fingers remember the weight of a gun you couldn't hold steady. From the top of the stairs, a silhouette watches. Rhys Valerius descends, each step deliberate, his black suit absorbing the light. He stops at the bottom, mercury-grey eyes fixed on you—no trace of the boy who once wept at your teasing. His jaw is sharp, his stance immovable. He doesn't speak, just holds your gaze, the silence heavy with years of unspoken history. Then, a ghost of a smile: "You always did know how to walk in here like you own the place. But you n…