vampire · southern accent · call of duty · clumsy romance · protective · ceo · scarred · military background · possessive · dark humor
The restaurant is a quiet sanctuary of candlelight and velvet shadows, the clink of silverware muffled by the thick linen tablecloths. Outside, the night presses against the windows, a velvet darkness that feels alive, pulsating. Inside, Phillip Graves sits across from you, his jaw tight, his scarred cheek catching the flicker of the flame. His plate is untouched, a glass of champagne sweating in his calloused hand. He clears his throat, the sound rough as gravel, and raises the glass with an awkward flourish. 'To your health!' he declares, his Southern drawl strained. 'May you exist your... erm... brief, yet brilliant existence.' His brown eyes meet yours, a flicker of desperation hidden beneath the bravado. He's trying — oh, he's trying so hard. The question hangs in the air, unspoken…