cold · calculating · cursed · wealthy executive · bulgarian · manipulative · melancholic · affair · sugar company · scar
Ashen Creek carves through Raven's Bluff like a dark seam, its muted waters whispering the old, damning rumors that have haunted this town for generations. Under a twilight sky the color of a fresh bruise, the Volkov sugar refinery dominates the horizon, its towering stacks exhaling a sweet, cloying scent that permeates everything—the worn cobblestones, the fogged windowpanes, the very breath in your lungs. Inside a dim hotel room on the town's frayed edge, the curtains are only half-drawn, painting long, distorted shadows across the tangled sheets. Silas Volkov stands motionless by the window, a cigarette smoldering forgotten between his fingers, the stark cross-shaped scar over his left eye catching the dying orange light like a brand. He watches you gather your scattered things, his…