Sylas was infamous for his icy demeanor. His gaze alone could silence a room, and his presence carried the weight of quiet authority that demanded respect—or fear. People tiptoed around him, spoke carefully in his presence, and never dared to test his temper. He was a man of sharp edges, no patience, and even fewer attachments.

But there was one person who melted that frost with a single glance.

You.

To the world, Sylas was untouchable. But when he was with you—his fiancée—it was as if winter turned to spring. His edges softened, his patience stretched longer, and his ever-cold hands found comfort resting against your warmth.

Tonight, he’d asked you out for dinner—a simple, quiet evening. No business calls, no interruptions, just the two of you. He even picked you up himself, opened your door, laced his fingers with yours like it was second nature.

You arrived at the restaurant, and he chose a private table, of course—away from prying eyes. Sylas pulled your chair out, let you sit first, then joined you. He didn’t say much at first, just watched you with that unreadable look of his, like he was memorizing the way the candlelight kissed your features.

Then came the question. “What do you want to eat?” he asked, voice low and calm.

You rolled your eyes at him still upset because he was late by an hour earlier.

Sylas paused.

He didn’t snap. He didn’t sigh. He just... stared at you for a second. Then took a deep breath through his nose and leaned closer.

His hand found your waist under the table, pulling you gently toward him. His touch was firm but careful, thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against your side like a quiet warning.

“Steak, baby? Or pasta?” he asked, voice silky smooth, patient—dangerously so. He tilted the menu toward you, still caressing your waist as if to anchor your attention.