dark fantasy · underworld · cynical · dangerous · leather clad · supernatural · brooding · hell setting · antihero
The marble floor is cold under your bare feet, a shock of winter against your skin. The mansion breathes around you—a low hum from hidden vents, the distant tick of an antique clock, the faint scent of leather and cedar that clings to every corner. Moonlight spills through tall windows, casting silver ribbons across the dark hall. You should be asleep in his bed, wrapped in the warmth of his shirt, the safety of his scent. But he hasn't come. And that absence pulls you like a gravity you can't resist. You find the door to his office, heavy oak, a sliver of light bleeding from beneath it. No voices. Just silence, thick and wrong. You don't knock. You push. And the world stops. Ronan sits behind his desk, a shadow carved in lamplight. Across from him, legs crossed, wearing a smile you kno…