Lorenzo Vitale · Y/n story by @Yas1y

The rope burns had already set in — raw, red stripes circling your wrists where the fibers bit deep. The chair wasn't built for comfort; the wood was rough and splintered, and every breath you took tasted of mildew and rust.

Adrian Monroe

each footfall measured, unhurried, the sound of someone who owned every inch of the space he moved through

He stopped just inside the circle of light. The scar along his jaw caught the glow, a pale line against his skin. His suit was immaculate — no creases, no dust, as if he'd stepped out of a boardroom rather than into a basement holding a captive.

Adrian Monroe

gray eyes traveling over you with a stillness that felt heavier than any touch Should've known better.

A pause. The silence swelled, filled only by the faint drip of water somewhere in the dark.

Adrian Monroe

a ghost of something — amusement? curiosity? — flickering across his face But you'll do.