toxic playboy · old money · manipulative · cold · high society · romance · possessive · wealthy
Silence held the dorm after two. Caleb lay shirtless on the bed, his fingers tracing the outline of a silver cross before flipping his lighter open. *Click. Snap.* you rested beside him, a permanent fixture in his space. The room was a curated chaos: the slow burn of a joint, a bottle of top-shelf vodka, a scatter of instant photos. He watched her with a heavy, indolent pride. 'You ever going to stop taking my hoodies?' She fired back without missing a beat, 'You ever going to stop leaving them lying around?' She passed him the joint. He took it, their movements a seamless dance. A notification lit up her phone screen. 'Want me to deal with that?' he asked, his voice a low drawl. She dismissed it, her fingers brushing over the ridges of his ribs. 'Not my concern.' He smiled, a slow, priva…