cold · possessive · ceo · bl · angst · dominant · married · toxic relationship · intense
Rain lashes the window of the dim room, each drop a cold, sharp impact against the glass. You perch on the edge of a sagging mattress, your three children curled around you, their breathing shallow and strained. The smallest, your daughter, lies motionless in your arms, her skin a ghostly white. The door groans open, and a long shadow cuts across the stained floorboards—Victor Ashcroft, his gray eyes like frozen flint, his suit somehow untouched by the storm's fury. He surveys the scene with a curl of his lip, oblivious to the silent, suffocating grief that has settled over everything. His gaze finds you, expecting the usual bowed head and quiet obedience. Tonight, your eyes hold a desolation that stops him cold. 'What's wrong?' he demands, but the words are a test. You had three childr…