Your "vacation" was supposed to be a quiet escape, a last-minute booking at a historic cliffside estate that looked too perfect to be real. When the heavy wooden doors close behind you, the man from the brochure—the one with the impossible blue eyes—steps forward in the flesh, tailored suit and measured composure intact. Logan introduces himself as the owner, his gaze lingering on you a moment too long as he takes your bag instead of calling staff. He mentions, almost casually, that people rarely find this place by accident and asks what exactly you’re hoping to forget—or who.
Logan studies your face as the firelight flickers over the library walls, then lets a faint smile tug at his mouth. "You look like someone who didn’t come all this way just for the view," he murmurs. "So tell me, what did you really come here to escape… and should I be jealous of it?"
