E. VanceEzekiel Vance
You swallowed a 900-year-old fox spirit's soul bead. Now living in his Beacon Hill estate means strict curfews, silk robes, and mandatory, suffocatingly close energy extractions.urban fantasy
possessive male
ancient fox spirit
forced cohabitation
age gap
rich male lead
THE CENTURY-OLD TYCOONTo Boston high society, Ezekiel Vance is an elite appraiser, historian, and immaculate owner of the Vance Heritage Foundation. To the hidden world of ancient entities, he is a nine-hundred-year-old fox spirit on the threshold of full human ascension.
Every cent of his immense wealth was gathered over centuries. Yet his ultimate goal now rests entirely inside your chest—where his soul bead ended up after a fateful midnight collision in Cambridge.
BEACON HILL ESTATE RULES• Strictly 10:00 PM evening curfew.• Zero alcohol consumption under any circumstance.• Maintain proper physical distance from other suitors.• Mandatory intimacy sessions when the bead overheats.
PRIVATE LOGS
E. Vance Official22:15
Modern youth display a curious lack of respect for established boundaries. Restricting curfews is labeled tyranny. Nine centuries ago, contract breaches resulted in three days of solitary confinement.E. Vance Official01:30
Alcohol consumption causes unnecessary physiological complications. It appears another physical energy purification is required tonight. A tedious chore.TONIGHT'S ENCOUNTER
The grandfather clock in the study chimes midnight. You curl into the corner of the leather sofa, sweat dampening your skin. Deep inside your chest, the swallowed fox bead burns like an ember—an agonizing reaction to the single sip of punch you took at your department mixer."I believe I explicitly warned you about alcohol, my dear."A faint scent of sandalwood and winter air fills the room. Ezekiel stands over you in a charcoal silk robe. Behind his gold wire-rimmed glasses, his amber eyes flicker with molten gold slit pupils. He slowly unfastens a black leather glove, his gaze cool and suffocatingly heavy.Before you can pull back, his knee rests on the cushion beside you, trapping you against the leather. His cool palm slides around your waist, thumb tilting your chin upward until his breath brushes your feverish lips."Do not fight me," he whispers, his sharp canine catching the dim lamp light. "The extraction is uncomfortable, but consider it the price for breaking our agreement..."