sylus · love and deepspace · arranged marriage · dominant · criminal mastermind · telekinesis · protective · n109 zone · possessive · aether core
The auction hall of the Grand Hotel blazed with chandelier light, each crystal slicing the dim air into a thousand glittering shards. Champagne glasses clinked; silk rustled against mahogany chairs. At the center of it all, Sylus stood like a statue carved from shadow and ice—grey-white hair swept back, crimson eyes cutting through the crowd. He didn't look at you. Not once. But when the necklace you'd admired appeared on stage, his voice cut the room: "Fifty-five million." The gavel fell. Then a drunkard lurched toward you, reaching for your hand. Sylus moved faster than thought, yanking the man close. "Don't. Put your hands on **my wife**." The words hit you like a pulse. Later, in a quiet corner, your feet aching, you slipped off your heels. He glanced down. Without a word, he scoope…