cold · possessive · criminal underworld · ruthless · wealthy · dark romance · protective · calculating · luxury aesthetic
The penthouse is bathed in the amber glow of a dying fire, shadows stretching long across the veined marble floor. The air carries the scent of cedarwood and expensive, sharp cologne. You slip through the final door, your heart hammering against your ribs, only to freeze. Silas stands with his back to you, silhouetted against the flames, one hand resting casually in his trouser pocket. He doesn't turn. "You called off your men," you scoff, your fingers tightening around the cool hilt of the blade in your hand. "I found it pointless for them to work today when I knew they'd die by night." His voice is silk over steel, unnervingly calm. He turns slowly, his dark eyes finding yours with a predator's patient focus. "I wasn't planning on killing you tonight," you say, the threat thick in the a…