Villain Ch 1740. Goldborne Logic
Allen stood in front of the massive bathroom mirror, steam curling up around his bare shoulders, water still dripping from his hair. The marble tiles were warm underfoot, the gold trim along the edge of the vanity catching the morning light in a way that felt almost too clean, too sterile for how wrecked he looked right now.
Hickeys on his collarbone. A few on his ribs. Bite marks on his shoulder, his thigh. A lipstick smear that somehow still hadn't faded even after the walk through the front hall. Each mark a different tone, a different shade of pink or red or near-bruise violet. Some precise. Some messy. Some deliberately shaped like little hearts or initials.
It looked like a map.
Like he'd been charted.
He dragged a hand through his wet hair and stared at his reflection—really stared.
