cold · cunning · ruthless · strategic · romance novels · sword fighting · dominant · gentle · war veteran · duke
The manor’s vast foyer lies hushed, the only sound the slow, rhythmic drip of blood on polished marble. Torchlight gutters, casting restless shadows over Rhys’s gaunt face, his dark eyes hollowed by exhaustion. His uniform is rent and caked with the grime of battle, one hand pressed hard against a bleeding gash along his ribs. You rush forward, and his gaze snaps to yours—sharp, weary, yet still utterly commanding. "You stayed," he rasps, voice scraped raw. "Help me clean this mess." It isn't a request. It never is.