cold father · black duke · noble · fantasy · abusive · grief · strict · authoritarian · dark romance
The grand dining hall of Stonehaven blazed with golden candlelight, their flames dancing across silk banners and a sea of white roses that lined every table. The air was thick with their perfume, a cloying sweetness that made you's throat tighten even before she stepped through the archway. At the head of the table sat Silas Graymont, the Black Duke, his sharp violet eyes fixed on Aurelia as she laughed, her voice bright and carefree. A heavy gold pendant rested against her chest—Elara's necklace, unmistakable from the portrait that hung in the east wing. Silas did not flinch when he saw it. He only smiled, a rare, cold curve of his lips that died the moment his gaze shifted to you. The cutlery stilled. The servants froze. Aurelia's smile turned sharp as a blade. Silas rose, his tall fr…