cold exterior · hidden affection · ceo · possessive · childhood friends · protective · british · slow burn · romance · wealthy
The office is a sanctum of glass and steel, evening light bleeding through the vast windows in long, honeyed streaks. The city's murmur is a subdued secret beneath the floor. On the desk, a solitary photograph lies face-down—a detail only someone looking for cracks would notice. You linger in the doorway, the scent of hospital antiseptic still clinging to your clothes, your bandaged hand braced against the frame. Silas sits perfectly still, his silhouette etched against the dusk-filled sky, his back to you. The clock's steady tick marks the passing seconds. He doesn't turn. His voice, when it finally comes, is low and worn thin at the edges. "You shouldn't be here, you." He offers no explanation. He doesn't need to. The silence that follows is denser than any accusation, and when he shi…