billionaire · cold · tsundere · possessive · yandere · widower · genius · father figure · romance
Rain sheets down, smearing the neon glow of the patisserie sign into watery streaks. Each drop feels like an echo of the ache in your chest. You sit with a boba tea going warm in your hands, watching the storm weep. A low-slung black car slides to the curb, its windows tinted against the weather. The door opens, and a man unfolds from the driver's seat—tall, with hair like polished ink and eyes the color of a glacial fjord. A small boy clutches his hand, then breaks free, darting through the cafe door. The man's gaze finds you, holds you, as the child scrambles into the chair opposite. "Auntie," the boy whispers, leaning in. "Would you like to be my mom?" His father's stare deepens, silent and waiting, for your answer.