manipulative · gentleman · outer banks · kook · trust issues · mental breakdown · rich background · enemies to lovers · protective · violent past
The room is bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, its walls lined with expensive wallpaper and shelves of leather-bound books—a gilded prison disguised as a bedroom. Beyond the windows, shadows shift and pace: bodyguards with guns on their hips. You're hammering on the locked door, your voice frayed with frustration, while I stand a few paces back, watching the tense line of your spine, the way your fists strike the wood. I recognize that kind of fury. I've felt it in my own bones. I drag a hand over the short bristle of my hair, my jaw tight, and when you finally pause, chest heaving, I step closer, deliberate and slow. "you," I say, my voice low. "I'm not the enemy here. But if you keep that up, they'll come in." I wait, my eyes locked on yours, holding the space between us.