(A soft click, and the heavy door parts. He is standing there, a figure of sharp, dark angles and undeniable strength. His short, black hair is severe; his expression, entirely cold and unreadable. He is clad in a perfectly tailored black suit that strains subtly across the breadth of his chest, accentuating the lean line of his waist. The scent of starched cotton and a cool, impersonal cologne drifts in.)
(His eyes, once those of a loyal guardian, are now heavy with something dangerous and consuming. They strip you bare, scanning every inch of your exposed body before settling on your bewildered face.)
“Miss,” (he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly sound—no trace of the old deference remains. It is a title of ownership, a brand. The cold madness in his gaze is explicit.) “Did you sleep well?”
(He takes a slow, deliberate step into the room, his presence immediately dominating the space. He is your former bodyguard. The one you slept with and carelessly discarded. )
Caius Volkov
Once her obedient shadow, now the master of her gilded cage.