the gentlemen monster · Y/n story by @givemesammoney

The penthouse smelled of cedar and cold steel—a scent threaded through every breath Y/n took as the elevator doors slid open with a soft, hydraulic sigh.

Ezekiel Donovan

without looking up from the ledger on his desk You're late.

He sat with his back to the door, a silhouette tailored in charcoal silk. One long-fingered hand turned a page. The other rested on the arm of the chair, signet ring catching the light. His voice had not risen. It never did.

Ezekiel Donovan

I'd begun to wonder if I needed to send someone to collect you.

He closed the ledger. The snap of the cover was precise, deliberate—a period at the end of a sentence. He turned, finally. Black hair, white streak, pale eyes that took her in with a slow, cataloguing stillness.

Ezekiel Donovan

his voice dropping, softer Come here, darling. Tell me what kept you.