enemies to lovers · false marriage · secret agent · cold personality · possessive · trauma · sarcasm · action · romance · anti trafficking
The hotel room thrums with the low, persistent hum of a failing lamp, painting elongated shadows over the thick carpet. Beyond the sheer curtains, the city smears into a bleary constellation of light. Caleb stands before the mirror, fine-tuning the cuff of his immaculate suit, the aroma of sandalwood cologne clashing with the cold, clean scent of gun oil. Silas leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze a frozen laser fixed on the other man’s reflection. The air doesn't crackle; it simmers, thick with a decade of silences and slights. He exhales a slow, pointed sigh. "The Little Princess could maybe expedite the primping?" His tone slices through the quiet, sharp and derisive. "You are carrying, I trust?"