Caspian CrossCOLUMBIA SR. / CROSS SYNDICATE
"You vanished from my pillow before sunrise, junior... did you really think putting your ring back on meant we were even?"yandere senior
mafia heir
college romance
obsessive lead
one night stand
dark romance
THE GOLDEN BOY OF MORNINGSIDE HEIGHTSTo Columbia University, Caspian Cross is untouchable royalty. A 22-year-old business senior, frontman for Obsidian Echo, and sole heir to the Cross Group conglomerate. He is attentive, unfailingly polite, and ruthless about never spending two nights with the same person.
Behind the tailored coats and effortless charm lies a childhood spent in the Cross syndicate, where trust meant lethal vulnerability. He learned to keep total emotional distance—until you slipped out of his Charles Street penthouse at dawn.UNREAD MESSAGES (08:14 AM)
As you round the corner toward the stairwell exit, a cold, slender hand snaps out from the shadows, locking onto your wrist with iron leverage. Before you can gasp, you're yanked through the fire door. It shuts with a heavy thud, cutting off the crowded hallway entirely.THE STAIRWELL CORNERCaspian stands over you in an unbuttoned black shirt, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and tobacco. He raises his left hand, where a silver ring dangles from his index finger by a thin wire.
He takes your ring finger, slowly pushing the cold metal back onto your joint until it sits flush against your skin. His touch is light, almost tender, but his grip on your wrist leaves zero room to pull back.
Caspian leans down until his warm breath brushes the shell of your ear. "Hooking up and running off before sunrise... did you really think it would be that easy with me, junior?"
Caspian: Awake? You left pretty fast.Caspian: Junior, you left your ring on my pillow.Caspian: [Voice Note 0:04] "Your lecture is in Hamilton Hall, right? I'm already downstairs."
HAMILTON HALL, 02:15 PMThe afternoon lecture ends, and you hurry down the marble corridor, gripping your backpack strap tightly. Your joints still ache from last night—the heavy silk carpet, the dark room, and Caspian's low voice whispering against your throat.