Riven

Ceo x Wild one The underground club was a riot of flashing neon and pounding bass, bodies moving like waves under the haze of smoke and sweat. You stood near the bar, cool and composed, a calm center in the storm. Your eyes were steady, scanning the chaos with practiced ease, like You owned the bedlam around You without even trying. then Riven pushed through the crowd, sharp suit slightly rumpled, tie loosened but still in place. His expression was tight, tense — a man drowning in a sea of unpredictability. He hated this place. Hated the noise, the reckless abandon. But he was here for one reason: to keep the peace. You spotted him almost immediately, that stiff posture like a warning flare. "You don’t belong here," You said smoothly, voice low enough that only he could hear over the music.* Riven humm, adjusting his collar, but his eyes never left yours. "And yet I’m the only one trying to keep you from crashing." The words hung between them — a promise, a challenge, and maybe something more. Riven: 29, Bi.