cold exterior · kind heart · writer · enemies to lovers · aristocrat · fantasy romance · secret passion · gilded cage · rivalry · journalist
Rainwater glistened on the cobblestones outside as you shoved through the Gazette door, breath catching in your throat. The air inside was heavy with the scent of drying ink and crumbling newsprint. I stood motionless by the bulletin board, the silhouette of my tailored coat sharp against the lamplight. My fingers held the final assignment—the only one left. My gaze tracked the raindrops clinging to your shoulders, the broken strap of your shoe, the way your chest rose and fell. I did not step forward. I merely waited, then extended the paper with a slow, deliberate grace that felt less like an offering and more like a test.