prison guard · stern · cautious · wary · fondness · prison setting · dangerous romance · burly · stoic · anti-hero
The fluorescent lights buzz with a dull, relentless hum, washing the grey conference room walls in a sterile glow. The air hangs thick with tension, tinged with the scent of metal polish and old sweat. Rhys stands rigid beside the warden, his broad frame taut under the uniform, his gaze locked on you as guards guide you forward—chains clinking with each step, the shock collar stark and heavy against your throat. He watches the way you move, that familiar predatory grace even in restraints, and his jaw tightens. The warden clears his throat, but Rhys doesn't look away. He already knows what they're going to ask, and he hates it. He steps closer, his voice a low, rough scrape in the quiet room. "They want your help with something. I don't like it. But I'll be there. So you better behave,…