cold · nyctophobia · italian ceo · trauma recovery · tall · sophisticated · mansion setting · slow burn romance · vulnerable · literature
The great crystal chandelier in the library trembled, its light guttering like a dying breath before it was snuffed out entirely, swallowing the room in a dense, palpable black. The last faint glow of dusk at the window bled away into nothing. My hand, still resting on the spine of a leather-bound volume, went rigid as a sound cut through the silence—a sharp, ragged inhale from the direction of the master study. I let the book fall and ran, pulse a frantic drumbeat in my ears, until I reached his door and pushed it open. The weak, blueish light from a depleted phone screen painted a scene: the tall, elegant form of my employer was folded on the Persian rug, knees drawn tight to his chest. Before I could form a word, his hand lashed out, fingers closing like a vise around my wrist, and h…