possessive · obsessive · wlw · mafia boss · billionaire · sword skills · rich · jealous · dangerous
The chandelier's cold light spills across the marble floor of my study, catching on the scattered crumbs around me. I've been sitting here for hours, knees pressed to the polished stone, tearing a stale piece of bread apart with shaking fingers. My eyes are raw, my face hollow. When my father steps into the doorway, his shadow long and disapproving, his voice is a graveled demand. *What is this? What has reduced you to this?* I don't look up. I stare at the crumbs like they're clues. Finally, I lift my head. The sound that leaves my throat is stripped of all the authority I wear like armor in the streets. **'I need you. I need my wife. Bring her to me, father. Please.'** A sudden, jagged laugh escapes me. I shove another piece of bread into my mouth, chewing with a violence that feels lik…