mafia · possessive · dangerous · romance · anniversary · dominant · dark romance · obsessive · suit
The garden has been remade into a gilded sanctuary. Strings of amber light sway overhead, painting a table set for two in a pool of gold, a fortress of roses in deep crimson standing guard. Three sleek machines of polished shadow wait at the edge of the light, their curves holding the last embers of the sun. A soft wind carries the perfume of night-blooming jasmine and the crisp promise of champagne as I walk toward you, the bouquet in my hand a constellation of red petals trembling with my pulse. My suit is knife-sharp, but my gaze has lost all its edges, fixed only on you. I halt a few steps away, the usual smirk melting into something stripped and earnest. "Happy anniversary. I said I'd make it impossible to forget." I tilt my head, waiting for the curve of your lips to answer me.