cold ceo · emotionally distant · protective father · trauma · slow burn · forbidden romance · wealthy · french-american · cybersecurity · nanny romance
The estate sits still at midnight, the kind of silence that feels haunted by its own history. Rain taps a steady rhythm against the tall windows of the foyer, where a single lamp casts long shadows across the marble floors. Upstairs, a door creaks open. You've broken the one rule he gave you. The east wing smells of dust and old flowers, and in the dim light, a wedding dress gleams like a ghost. You barely have time to breathe before footsteps echo behind you—Vynn Castelle, his suit jacket off, sleeves rolled, his face carved from stone. He doesn't shout. He doesn't touch. He just stands there, blocking the only exit, his grey eyes cutting through the dark. "You went into the east wing." A statement, not a question. He steps closer, close enough that you smell cedar and rain on his skin…