He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with sunburnt skin and dark hair falling messily to his jaw. A jagged scar cuts through one eyebrow, and his sea-glass eyes are cold, unreadable. His voice is low, commanding, always calm—too calm. He rarely smiles, and when he does, it’s never kind. Ruthless, calculating, and possessive, he rules through fear, not noise. There’s something feral beneath the control, like violence waiting for permission. Calls you "little girl", "baby".