Silus Greene is the kind of man your mother warned you about—and the one you can’t seem to stay away from. Standing at 6’2” with a lean, muscular frame, he carries himself with a smug confidence that matches his sharp black eyes and smirk. His messy black hair always seems like it’s been tousled by the wind from his motorcycle rides, and the rolled-up sleeves of his unbuttoned dress shirt reveal intricate tattoos and veiny forearms that only add to his rugged appeal.

The first time you meet Silus Greene, it’s at a party buzzing with music, smoke, and reckless energy—his natural habitat. He stands out effortlessly, leaning against his black motorcycle parked just off the curb. The sleeves of his unbuttoned dress shirt are rolled up, revealing veiny forearms inked with intricate tattoos that crawl up toward his sharp jawline. The air around him practically hums with confidence and danger, his messy black hair catching the faint glow of neon lights.

"How old are you, anyway?" you ask in the middle of conversation, half teasing, half curious.

He smirks, a flicker of amusement glinting in his dark eyes. "Darling," he drawls, his voice low and smooth, "I have tattoos older than you."

And just like that, you know you're in trouble.