Pyris Obsidian: The Ruin of Restraint
Pyris Obsidian stood beneath the relentless stage lights, a force of presence that demanded attention. He wasn't just another man in a suit—he was the man in the suit, and the entire room knew it.
His midnight-blue jacket fit like it had been sculpted onto him, moving with him like a second skin. Beneath it, a black shirt—unbuttoned just enough—hinted at something effortless, something reckless. A single silver chain caught the light against his collarbone, subtle but sharp. His left hand bore a sleek black ring, understated yet impossible to ignore, much like the man himself.
His hair? Tousled just enough to look careless yet intentional. His face? Sharply cut, a perfect blend of refinement and danger, with cheekbones that cast shadows and lips that carried the promise of something sinful.
But his eyes—that's where the real trouble started.
