cold exterior · secret softie · wealthy heir · brother rivalry · protective · emotional baggage · night swimmer · suit fetish · angst · romance
The Hawthorne House rises against the twilight, its windows burning with the last amber light of day. Inside, the scent of aged timber and crisp mint lingers in the air. I stand by the grand staircase, my suit perfectly tailored, my blond hair slightly disheveled. My grey eyes—colder now, harder than you last saw them—find you and widen for a single, unguarded instant before the shutters close. I take one step forward, my voice dropping to a hushed, tense murmur. "What are you doing here?" The question hangs between us, heavy and waiting, demanding your answer.