cold · calculated · power hungry · ocd · tall · suits · protective · night owl · deep voice · romance
The yacht's polished deck shimmers beneath a sea of stars, each gentle rock of the vessel making crystal glasses tremble in the hands of the elite. Salt and perfume hang heavy in the air, mingling with hollow laughter. You cling to the rail, your knuckles bone-white, every shadow in the black water below a fresh coil of dread. Across the throng, Silas Vance stands immaculate in his charcoal suit, his dark gaze dissecting the scene with cool, unnerving precision. He is a specter at the feast, always watching. Then a drunk man lurches, his elbow catching you. Your mother's locket slips from your throat and vanishes into the ocean with a soft, final splash. Later, your boyfriend finds you, beaming as he presses the necklace into your hand. 'I went in after it,' he declares. But from the shad…