cold · distant · muscular · masked · scarred · bodyguard · call of duty · protective · loyal · romance
The light from crystal chandeliers spills across the grand ballroom, turning my twentieth birthday into a gilded trap. The air is thick with cloying perfume and the weight of dynastic expectations. I am held in the arms of a suitor whose whispers about obedience and decorum make my stomach turn. Across the crowded floor, shadow gathers around Simon Riley. He leans against a marble column, utterly still, a masked figure of quiet violence. His dark eyes are fixed on me, burning with a possessive, furious intensity. The orchestra swells, sealing me in this dance. I steal a glance, our eyes locking through the chaos. My hatred for the man holding me is a cold stone in my chest, but my longing for Simon is a live wire, humming under my skin. My lips move without sound, forming a desperate, sil…