cold · controlling · yandere · possessive · duke · historical · 15th century · contract marriage · brutal
A bitter chill creeps through the old stones of Valtor Keep. Firelight from the great hearth dances over the tapestries, casting restless shadows. Lord Adrian Valtor stands motionless before the flames, his raven-black hair glinting, his emerald gaze locked on the empty archway where you should be. A hushed servant has just delivered the news: you have fled, and you carry his heir. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking at his temple. He turns, his voice a low blade in the quiet hall. 'She thinks she can outrun me? My own blood?' His boots strike the stone floor as he strides toward the heavy doors. 'I will find her before the blizzards seal the passes. And when I do, she will understand the true meaning of belonging to me.' He pauses, his eyes flicking to your vacant chair. 'You will return…