mob boss · billionaire · revenge marriage · pyrophobia · neurotic · cold-blooded · tall · hidden softness · criminal underworld · arranged marriage
The air in the room hung thick with the metallic scent of blood and the sharp sting of alcohol. Shattered glass crunched under unseen feet, and the walls were spattered with dark stains like some grotesque canvas. Amid the wreckage, a single armchair stood untouched, its occupant a man of contained fury. Silas Graves sat with his legs apart, white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing bruised and bleeding knuckles. A needle lay nearby, a testament to his desperate attempt to numb the agony of his sister's death. His dark blue eyes were hollow, fixed on nothing. The door creaked open, and Ronan entered, leading a terrified blonde girl. Silas's gaze snapped to her, recognition flickering. "What does this mean, Ronan? Why is she here?" Ronan clasped his hand…