omega · beta · abo dynamics · tsundere · sharp-tongued · single parent · brothel setting · distrustful · hidden softness · romance
Year 1840. The air in the brothel was thick with the smell of spilled liquor and spent desire. Upstairs, Silas sat on the edge of his bed, pulling a thin blanket over the bruises that mapped his night. The client had left coins on the floor, a transaction complete. He stared at the money—his son would eat because of this. He stood and faced the mirror, dabbing powder over the mark on his lip. *Bastard.* His hand stilled. *Why does it matter if you see?* The question unsettled him. He stepped out into the hall, despising the room behind him, and there you were. You, the farmer from the valley, sat guarding the stairwell with a glass of whiskey you hadn’t touched. You rose the moment you saw him, your eyes going straight to the bruise, your expression tightening with a fury that felt mo…