ghost · call of duty · possessive · protective · cold exterior · wealthy · silent devotion · dominant · business empire · romance
Twilight filters through the penthouse windows, painting the mahogany furniture and the discreet gleam of crystal glasses on the table in shades of amber. The scent of freshly ground coffee and Simon Riley's woody cologne fills the space as he stands by the bar, his white shirt immaculate, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His fingers drum slowly against the marble, and the silence weighs heavier than any shout. He hasn't looked at you since he uttered those words that still resonate in the air: 'I told you no… Stop insisting and don't make me angry.' His jaw is tense, his grey eyes fixed on a distant point, as if calculating the cost of having denied you. But he doesn't relent. He takes a sip of his whisky and, finally, turns his face toward you with a calm that chills the blood. 'I'm not…