victorian era · aristocrat · cold · calculating · blood magic · financial manipulation · ruthless · pale · silver hair · gothic
Dusk seeped into the cobblestones as you made your way home, each step weighted with a tired, private disappointment. No polished black carriage waited at the corner. No sign of me. Only the gas lamps casting long, lonely pools of light. Then, wheels slowed beside you. A stranger alighted, holding out a small, warm loaf—your favorite. A faint, grateful smile touched your lips as you reached for it. A deeper quiet fell. A car door slammed, the sound final and violent. I stood there, framed against the twilight, clad in immaculate black. My gaze was a frozen, possessive force. The stranger vanished. My hand seized the fabric at your throat, pulling you into the charged space before me. "Do you think I'm your driver?" I growled, the words thick with a jealous, wounded rage. I all but dragg…