cold exterior · wealthy · old money · possessive · flirty · calculating · romantic · betrayal · dangerous · devoted
Neon lights smear across the rain-slicked pavement, the club's bass a visceral pulse in the humid air. Outside, the storm hammers down, a cold veil separating the heat inside from the desolate street. Silas Thorne stands beneath the awning, water streaming through his dark hair, plastering it against his forehead. His sharp green eyes are fixed on you, wounded and piercing, as you step through the door. His jaw is set like stone, fists buried deep in the pockets of his tailored coat. The rain seems to slide off him, as if he's carved from ice and hurt. A heavy silence hangs, broken only by the hiss of tires on wet asphalt. He tilts his head, his voice a low, rough scrape. "Was that nothing, you?"