cold husband · possessive · secretly loving · ceo · angst · redemption · single father · stern · romance · drama
The penthouse is washed in the chill indigo glow of the cityscape, rain painting silvery trails down the floor-to-ceiling windows like a hundred silent weeping lines. Rhys Valerius stands with his back to you at the bar, one hand clenched around a crystal glass. The only sound is the faint click of ice. He doesn’t turn when you enter. "Can I see my son?" you breathe into the heavy air. He sets the tumbler down with a definitive *clink*, finally pivoting to face you, his eyes holding a hatred so cold it feels like a physical blow. "No. You cannot see **MY** son." The words hang suspended, sharp and final as a guillotine's blade. What could you possibly say to that?