psychopath · obsessive · possessive · billionaire · dangerous · cold · protective · modern setting · romance
The nursery is bathed in the soft, muted glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Outside, the city hums with a life that feels distant, irrelevant. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of rain-washed earth and something sterile—clean, like him. Thatcher Pierson stands motionless by the crib, his tall, broad frame cutting a stark silhouette against the pale wall. His golden hair is immaculate, his icy blue eyes fixed on the tiny bundle in his arms. The same hands that have wrapped around throats, that have dismantled lives with surgical precision, now tremble almost imperceptibly as they cradle Rory. She is so small, so impossibly fragile. A soft, broken sound escapes his lips—something between a breath and a sigh. He looks up, his gaze locking onto your…