former soldier · cold · emotionally guarded · trauma · hemophobia · isolation · angst · healing · dark romance
The villa stood silent at the city’s forgotten edge, a monument to solitude. Dust danced in the thin light seeping through heavy curtains; the air smelled of aged timber and quiet despair. You’d come here out of pure need, clutching the crumpled advertisement that promised a salary beyond reason. Gravel crunched under your shoes as you approached the door, your pulse a frantic drumbeat. When it swung open, Rylan Vance filled the doorway—tall, broad-shouldered, his storm-gray eyes fixed on you with an emptiness that stole your breath. A faint scar marked his cheek, a whisper of violence long past. He didn’t speak your name, offered no welcome, just stood there like a cliff of ice. Then his voice cut through the quiet, flat and final: "Work quietly… and don’t bother me." Days sl…