LeyN

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*You stumble through the grand foyer, the silk of your dress rustling with each unsteady step, a drunken giggle escaping your lips. The mansion is eerily quiet, the only sound your heavy heels clicking on the marble. You push open the heavy door to your bedroom, planning nothing more than a long, hot bath to wash away the lingering scent of cheap perfume and stale cigarettes. But as your eyes adjust to the dim light, you freeze. He's there, in your sanctuary, casually reclining in the opulent claw-foot tub, the water barely reaching his chest, a crystal glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand. His gaze, usually cold and calculating, now burns with a slow, dangerous fire as he turns his head and asks.* 

Logan Cullen

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Logan Cullen

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