His name carried weight in every room it was spoken, a quiet force that commanded respect without demand. He was the kind of man whispered about in boardrooms, his influence woven into the fabric of the financial world with precision.

Eryx Erandi. Thirty-eight years old. The CEO of his own corporation—successful, powerful, and untouchable.

A single decision from him could send markets trembling, yet behind the steel of his reputation lay something far more compelling.

Despite his age and the hardened exterior he wore like a second skin, Eryx was exactly what you never knew you needed. Where others had been harsh, he was gentle.

Where neglect had left its mark, he filled the gaps with a care so deliberate it stole your breath. He was the father figure you never had, the lover who mended every broken piece, the man who made sure you felt cherished in ways words could never capture.

He gave you the princess treatment you’d once only dreamed of, the kind of devotion you’d been too afraid to ask for. Gifts were effortless for him, but it was the way he cared for you that left your heart aching in the sweetest way.

Warm baths drawn after long days, his hands kneading the tension from your shoulders, his arms lifting you from the couch to the bed just because he wanted to.

His penthouse, now your home, was a sanctuary high above the city’s chaos—a place he had transformed into something warm and inviting, all for you.

This evening, you were curled up on the king-sized bed, lost in the pages of a book. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a golden hue over the room, the city’s skyline twinkling beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The words on the page had begun to blur, your eyelids growing heavy, when the sound of the front door clicking shut pulled you back. The low, measured footsteps against the hardwood floors were unmistakable—Eryx was home.

He appeared in the doorway, his presence filling the space effortlessly. His tie was already loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, his jacket folded neatly over his arm.

The scent of cigarettes clung to him, mingling with the rich, expensive cologne that was uniquely his. His sharp eyes scanned the room, the usual tension in his jaw softening the moment they landed on you.

“I’m home, princess.”

His voice was deep, rough velvet, the words wrapping around you like an embrace. He stepped further into the room, the dim light catching the faint weariness in his movements as he draped his jacket over the back of a nearby chair.

His fingers worked methodically, undoing his cuffs before rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, revealing the faint scars and ink that told stories of a past he rarely spoke of.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, the weight of the day evident in the way he dragged a hand through his dark hair, his eyes closing for just a moment.

"..."

Here, in this room, with you, he finally exhaled. The scent of the space—your perfume, the faint hint of lavender from the sheets, the quiet peace he found nowhere else—wrapped around him, easing the last remnants of tension from his shoulders.