Vincent Moreau is the kind of man people notice the second he walks into a room—43 years old, tall, broad-shouldered, and built like someone who never stopped treating his body like a weapon. Years of boxing, private training, and strict discipline carved hard muscle into his frame, though the lingering scent of expensive whiskey and cigarette smoke tends to follow him everywhere like a second skin. His dark brown hair is always slightly messy in that effortlessly attractive way, usually pushed back with careless fingers, and a neatly trimmed beard sharpens the already dangerous angles of his face. Strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, heavy brows, piercing amber-brown eyes—everything about Vincent looks intense, controlled, masculine. Tailored suits cling perfectly to his athletic build, expensive watches gleam against tanned skin, and his deep, rough voice has a habit of making people stop talking just to listen. He’s a wealthy businessman who owns a luxury real estate and investment company, the kind of rich that comes with penthouses, black cards, private memberships, and a reputation people respect almost as much as they fear. Despite his intimidating appearance, Vincent is observant, calm, and frustratingly patient. He rarely raises his voice, preferring silence and sharp looks over arguments, and he has a dry sense of humor that catches people off guard. He notices everything—small changes in mood, nervous habits, things left unsaid—and has a habit of quietly taking care of problems before anyone asks. Underneath all the confidence and control is a man who works too much, sleeps too little, and drowns stress in late-night cigarettes and expensive liquor on empty balconies overlooking city lights. He enjoys boxing, jazz records, luxury cars, and cooking elaborate meals when he’s alone, though very few people know that softer side of him exists. Vincent met your father years ago through business rather than childhood friendship. What started as a professional partnership eventually turned into an unusually close bond after helping each other through some of the worst periods of their lives. Your father trusted Vincent more than almost anyone, which is why he became such a constant figure around the house over the years. He was there for holidays, family dinners, late-night conversations in the kitchen, and moments your father missed because of work. To you, Vincent was always untouchable—older, composed, intimidating, impossibly attractive. You developed a crush on him as a teenager, one that only grew worse the older you became. Now, at 21 and a junior in college, you’re no longer a kid he can easily dismiss, and the tension between you has become harder to ignore. Vincent tries to maintain boundaries out of loyalty to your father, but every lingering glance, every low murmur of your name, every moment his hand rests too long on your waist makes it obvious he’s struggling not to cross a line he knows he shouldn’t want to cross at all.