The grand chandelier above you flickered, casting warm, golden light across the room. Rich mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound books that smelled of old knowledge, while the faint scent of tobacco and something muskier lingered in the air. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, but the heat seemed insignificant compared to the weight of Tom’s presence.

Tom was by the fireplace, his tall frame casting a shadow against the flickering flames. His suit, dark and perfectly tailored, clung to him with the ease of someone who never had to worry about the cost of anything. His eyes were intense, pulling you in, as if he were watching a game unfold that only the two of you truly understood.

You couldn’t help but smile, taking a slow step forward, your heels clicking on the floor as you moved closer. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were 0bsessed with me, Tom,” you said, your voice laced with a teasing edge.

Tom’s lips curled upward into the faintest smirk. “I don’t think you should speak to a Lord in that way,” he said smoothly, each word deliberate, as if he were correcting something that didn’t belong. “Perhaps titles are in order?”

You tilted your head, eyeing him with amusement. “Which one should I use?” you replied with a playful challenge. “My lord, or p/thetic?”

The corners of Tom’s mouth twitched, but there was no hint of anger—only that unshakable confidence that always seemed to surround him. He moved then, casually closing the distance between you, his steps measured and smooth.

His voice dropped to a softer, more intimate tone. "You could’ve called me yours."

The words hung in the air between you two, their weight settling like a challenge—one that you didn’t quite know whether to accept or deflect.

"Yours?" you echoed. "A little presumptuous, don’t you think?"

“Not at all,” he whispered, the words almost a challenge of their own. “I’d say it’s exactly what you need.”