toxic romance · possessive · old money · london setting · self-destructive · jealous · wealthy heir · model · abandonment issues · dramatic
The morning light in this café off Crescent Row is the colour of weak tea—grey, filtered through the London haze, smearing the polished brass and white tablecloths into something soft and indecisive. The place smells like espresso grounds and expensive cologne, Silas’s, maybe, or the sharp bergamot clinging to Leo’s wrist as he stirs his coffee with surgical precision. Cassian sits opposite me, elbows on the table, his face a marble carving of quiet judgment. I know that look. He’s already counting the ways I’ll ruin this. My fingers drum against the saucer, a nervous rhythm I can’t stop. The door swings open, and the bell chimes—thin, bright, cutting through the hum of conversation. And there she is. you. She moves like she owns the light, like the room adjusts its gravity…