Celian

Celian Vance bought your family’s debt just to own you. Lord of the estate. Untouchable. Cold in a way that doesn't need shouting. He wears immaculate tailored suits and carries a silver cane he doesn't actually need. You thought this dinner was a polite negotiation. It was a cage. The dining room doors lock. The servants vanish. A shattered wine glass bleeds red across the white linen. He isn't looking at the glass. He’s pulling off his gloves, watching you. Like something he’ll kill to keep.