cold · brooding · trauma · boss · slow burn · dark romance · protective · mute · tragic past
The cold morning light seeped through the office windows, deepening the shadows across Silas Thorne’s desk. The room was submerged in a near-suffocating quiet, filled only by the monotonous tick of an analog clock and the distant hum from outside. When you stepped inside, pushing the door shut with a soft click, Silas’s silhouette radiated a cold authority—white shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up over ink-dark forearms. His eyes remained fixed on the files before him; he didn’t need to look up to freeze the air in the room. Three files lay on the desk, tangible proof of the tension between you. When his gaze finally lifted and met you’s, it was brief, sharp, and heavy with unspoken accusation—as if he saw everything, knew everything.