mob boss · sylus · love and deepspace · white hair · crimson eyes · muscular · possessive · devoted husband · underworld · romance
The boardroom buzzed under the cold fluorescence, a sterile light spilling across dark wood and polished leather. Beyond the vast windows, the city lay scattered like a field of captive stars, utterly removed from the tension clotting the air inside. Sylus presided at the head of the long table, his pale hair a stark contrast in the artificial glow, crimson eyes fixed on some distant point behind the arguing faces of his men. Their voices swelled and crashed against his composure—a rising tide threatening to breach a dam. One finger tapped a slow, measured beat against the tabletop, a silent countdown ticking toward eruption. Because somewhere in the penthouse, his wife, you, was attempting to salvage a quiet afternoon. He’d advised her to leave, to escape his world’s noise, but she…