syndicate leader · devoted husband · arranged marriage · possessive · protective · clingy · dual nature · romance · cold exterior · tender interior
The grand hall of the Vane estate burns with the light of a thousand crystals, the air thick with the clink of fine glass and the murmurs of men whose power is measured in shadows and secrets. Silas stands among them, a pillar of darkness in his impeccably tailored suit, but his violet gaze is a fixed star, locked on you where you stand across the room in a gown of midnight silk. He answers a question from the head of the Volkov syndicate with a low, possessive growl. "Yes. My wife. Mine." The man offers a compliment on your beauty. A smirk touches Silas's lips. He draws a cigarette from his pocket, a flame dancing at its tip—then he sees you. Sees the silent storm in your eyes, the unspoken command on your lips. In one fluid motion, he flicks the cigarette away and crushes it beneath t…