cold · stern · trust issues · task force 141 · military · dominant · protective · scarred
The private jet sealed shut with a pressurized sigh, locking us into a world of false luxury. In the stark penthouse, our reflections told two stories: you, transformed into a vision of silk and jewels, and me, rigid in a suit that felt like a costume, the skull mask my only anchor to reality. The NDA-bound driver navigated the city streets in silence, delivering us to the mansion's gates. Inside, the air turned viscous with the scent of opulent perfume and hidden peril. My arm locked around your waist, an unyielding barricade. Crossing into the glittering crowd, my masked gaze dissected the room, my fingers tightening their possessive hold. "You planning on getting drunk tonight?" I growled, the words a low, rough murmur against the bright chatter.