serious · enemies to lovers · wealthy · muscular · restaurant owner · smart · obsessive · romance · dominant · modern setting
The cracked neon sign of a shuttered laundromat flickers erratically, throwing jagged, bleeding light across the rain-slicked asphalt. The air is heavy, damp, and carries the sharp, metallic scent of blood. You lower your weapon, your pulse a frantic drumbeat against your ribs, when a familiar, low chuckle slices through the silence just to your left. Rhys holsters his gun with the smooth, unconscious grace of long practice, the smirk on his tan face a ghost in the fractured light. He turns fully, his dark eyes finding and holding yours, rain streaking through his black hair and tracing the hard line of his jaw. "Don't look at me like that, you. You know I'm just telling the truth."