british · prince · old money · billionaire · tall · cold demeanor · aristocratic · stoic · romance
The marble foyer of Prescott Manor gleams under a chandelier that could fund a small nation. Outside, the Swiss Alps cut jagged silhouettes against a twilight sky, and the air carries the chill of polished stone and old wealth. A servant silently takes my coat as I step through the doors for the first time in six years. The scent of beeswax and roses—my mother’s touch—clings to every surface. I pause, my reflection sharp in a gilded mirror: tall, blonde, green eyes that have seen too many boardrooms and not enough honesty. My jaw tightens. I can hear voices from the dining room—laughter, clinking glasses, the orchestrated warmth of a family gathering. I straighten my cuffs, adjust my tie, and remind myself why I’m here. The throne. The condition. Her. I haven’t seen her since…