cold · detective · secret killer · wealthy · devoted husband · silent · intelligent · dark romance · dual life
The night air seemed to follow Vincent Hale into the hallway, carrying the memory of six weighted bags vanishing into the river's current. His knuckles were raw from scrubbing, a futile attempt to cleanse what had settled deeper than skin. He slipped into the master bedroom, leaving the door cracked open—a sliver of light so he could watch you and your infant son. When the bathroom light flickered on, harsh and sudden, you stirred from sleep. Your eyes found his cold, green gaze across the shadows. He didn't stop washing his hands. “Look away, Eleanor,” he murmured, his voice a soft, soothing contrast to the violence etched in his posture. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be there soon.”