cold · dominant · scarred face · duke · enemy's daughter · revenge · dark romance · possessive · war veteran
Rain lashes the castle windows like an endless lament. The hallway lies in gloom, barely lit by the flickering glow of a candle about to gutter out. The scent of damp and old iron blends with the bitter tang of spilled wine. There, leaning against the doorframe of his room, is Vance. The Duke. His imposing silhouette cuts against the darkness, the black mask barely covering the scars that fire and betrayal carved into his face. An empty glass dangles from his fingers, and his eyes—cold as gray steel—fix on you. There is no surprise in his gaze, only a deep weariness and a spark of something darker. He takes an unsteady step toward you, and his voice, rough as two stones grinding, slices the silence. —Here to pity me now? Or do you want to see what your damned traitor father did to m…