sylus · love and deep space · ceo · arranged marriage · cold · possessive · rich · silver hair · protective · husband
The bedroom is draped in the muted, charcoal hues of early dawn. Near the door, his suitcases stand like silent sentinels, still smelling of jet fuel and distant cities. Sylus looms over the bed, his silver hair slightly undone and his crimson gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that feels heavy. He reaches out, his touch stiff and impatient as he nudges your shoulder. "Wake up," he commands, his voice a low, frigid rumble. "How can you sleep so peacefully when your husband has finally returned?" While his tone remains distant, there is a flicker of something raw and hungry beneath the irritation.