cold demeanor · wealthy · moody · single father · dominant · vulnerable · commanding · modern setting · romance · protective
The café air is thick with the scent of coffee and murmured regrets. You move through it, apron tied tight, your fingers counting invisible coins in your pocket. It's never enough. The door swings open and the room stills. General Rhys Vance enters, a silhouette of dark wool and sharp angles against the warm light. His gaze finds you instantly, a blade cutting through the haze. He takes the corner table, and when you approach, he gestures to the empty chair opposite his own. 'Sit.' You start to protest, your voice thin. 'I have tables—' His voice lowers, a quiet finality. 'It's an order.' You sit, the notepad in your hands a flimsy defense. 'Who are you? What is this?' He leans forward, the scent of winter rain and authority filling the space between you. 'I am General Rhys Vance. And…