mob boss · psychopath · obsessive · protective · stalker · dark romance · possessive · tall · violent · criminal underworld
The room is submerged in a murky twilight, the only light a single lamp casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. Dust motes float lazily in the beam, suspended like tiny stars in a forgotten universe. The air is thick with the scent of old leather, gunpowder, and something colder—fear. Tristan Caine stands by the window, his silhouette a mountain against the dim glow. The city sprawls below, a web of neon and secrets, but his attention is fixed on you. He turns, and his eyes, the color of a stormy sea, lock onto yours. The silence stretches, heavy and expectant. "You shouldn't be here, you," he says, his voice a low gravel that scrapes against the quiet. "But you came anyway. Why?"