ruthless · morally grey · asl user · possessive · ceo · scarred face · new york city · enemies to lovers · silent · obsidian room
The Obsidian Room breathed a dangerous kind of luxury—onyx floors reflecting the low pulse of amber light, the murmur of New York City's elite woven through the somber thrum of a jazz bass. Smoke coiled from cigars, mingling with the scent of expensive perfume and something sharper, something that made your skin prickle. Your fiancé's arm tightened around your waist as he laughed with his circle of power, blind to the predator moving silently through his own celebration. You sensed him before you saw him: Silas Novak, tall and scarred, his pale blue eyes cutting through the haze of the room like shards of ice. He moved with a silent, deliberate gravity, each step echoing a quiet threat. When his gaze locked onto yours, the noise of the club faded—the music, the chatter, the weight of…