LOGINChapters 5 and 6 were sent in French yesterday, but I've already corrected them. I'm just waiting for my editor to approve and release them to you.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------I can't sleep.I spent the night on the sofa in the downstairs office, my head in my hands, her taste still on my tongue. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Elara's body contracting around my fingers. Heard the moan she tried to swallow. Saw the tears of rage and pleasure falling.Now it's almost nine in the morning.I walk up the stairs with the tray in my hand. Black coffee, toast, eggs, a sliced apple. Simple food. Necessary. When I open the bedroom door, she's sitting in the corner of the bed, hugging her knees, still only in her panties. The shirt I took off yesterday is thrown on the floor. Her neck carries the purple mark I made. Her eyes are swollen.She looks at me as if I were poison."Get out," she murmurs, her voice hoarse.I w
I keep her locked up all day.Not out of cruelty.Out of control.I need to distance myself. I need to remember who I am and what I swore I would never become. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her body under mine. Her marked neck. Her green eyes full of hatred and desire. The way she trembled when my mouth traveled down her skin.Now it's night.I walk up the stairs slowly. The key turns in the lock. When I open the door, I find her sitting on the edge of the bed, still wearing my black shirt. Her hair is messy. Her eyes are red. She didn't sleep well. Neither did I."You came back," she says, her voice hoarse from screaming alone."I never really left," I answer, closing the door behind me. "I just gave you space to hate harder."She laughs without humor."How generous."I walk toward her. Slowly. Every step is calculated. When I stop in front of her, she has to lift her face to look at me. I like this position. I like seeing her smile under me."Get up.""No."I grab her chin
I carry her back upstairs as if she weighs nothing.She fights the entire way. Her nails try to tear my shirt, her teeth seeking any piece of skin they can reach, her legs kicking the air with force. I don't let go. My arm is firm around her waist, the other holding both her wrists against my chest. Her scent rises — anger, expensive soap, and that desire she hates to admit. Every movement of her body against mine only makes me more tense."Let me go, you son of a bitch!" she screams, her voice hoarse from all the cursing.I don't answer. I just go up the stairs with firm steps, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. When we reach the bedroom, I throw her on the bed. Her body bounces on the soft mattress, and she immediately tries to get up. I climb on top of her before she can. My knees on either side of her hips, my hands pinning her wrists above her head hard enough to leave marks. The weight of my body immobilizes her completely."Stop fighting," I say, breathless, my voice low and
The silence after Maeve's call hangs heavy in the room.Elara is still cuffed by her right wrist to the headboard. The thin nightgown clings to her body in a way that makes me clench my jaw. I stand beside the bed, looking at her. She returns my gaze with the same fury as always, but now there's something different. Curiosity. Fear. And that anger burning underneath."Does your mother know you're a kidnapper?" she asks, her voice hoarse from all the screaming yesterday."She knows I do what I need to protect what's mine," I answer.I step closer and release the cuff. Elara immediately sits up and rubs her red wrist. I wait for the blow. It comes. She tries to hit me in the face with her free hand. I catch her wrist in midair and pull her to the edge of the bed, forcing her to kneel on the mattress, facing me."Keep trying," I murmur, tilting my face close to hers. "Every time you attack me, I remember how much fire you still have in you. And I like fire."She spits near my foot."I'm g
I wake up with the faint light of dawn coming through the heavy curtains.My body is still tense. I spent the whole night on the sofa, eyes half-open, listening to every breath she took. Elara slept badly. I heard her pulling at the cuffs, sobbing quietly, and finally, silence settling in.Now she's awake.I feel her gaze on me before I even move. When I open my eyes, I find her staring. Her black hair is messy, the thin nightgown clinging to her body, her wrists still tied above her head. There's anger in her green eyes… and something tired underneath."Good morning, little one," I say, my voice hoarse from no sleep.She spits my name."Get these fucking cuffs off. I need to go to the bathroom."I get up slowly. My body aches from being on the sofa. I walk to the bed and lean over her. Her scent—soap, warm skin, and that constant hatred—rises to me. I grip her chin firmly."Ask properly.""Fuck you," she growls.I almost smile. Instead, I release only one side of the cuffs, just enou
I hear her screaming from the other side of the house.The employee I hired, an older woman named Marta, is trying to drag Elara to the bathroom. The curses echo through the hallways: "Let me go, you old bitch!" "I'm not going to shower on your orders!" "That son of a bitch is going to regret buying me!"I stand in the dark hallway, leaning against the wall, listening to everything. My lip still burns where she bit me. The taste of blood is still on my tongue. And fuck, I like it.Minutes later, the bathroom door slams shut. I hear the sound of water running. Marta comes out a few minutes later, her face tired."She's inside, sir. Only the wrist cuffs remain. I took off the ankle ones. But… she's very aggressive.""Leave her," I answer quietly. "Go to sleep. I'll handle the rest."When the house finally falls silent, I walk to the bathroom door. I don't knock. I just open it.Elara is standing under the hot shower, her back to me. The water runs down her body, wetting her black hair s
The blood-red dress is spread across the bed like a declaration of war.There is no choice in the fabric that Luka deposits there with the precision of a surgeon preparing instruments. Thin crepe, a neckline that turns breathing into a spectacle, and an open back down to the base of the spine. It is
The Caribbean sun beats down on my face as we walk along the main deck. The black silk robe Zion gave me barely hides what happened in the last few hours. My wrists are still marked, red beneath the wide sleeves. Every step reminds me that I’m here against my will… and, at the same time, that I did
I yank the black silk ropes with every ounce of strength I can muster, feeling them bite into my wrists like sharp teeth. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it wants to escape my chest. I’m naked. Completely exposed. Surrounded by the three men I love and hate most in the entire world, whil
My eyes open slowly, heavily, as if the whole world were submerged in dark molasses. The first thing I feel is the gentle rocking—not of a car, nor of an ordinary bed. It’s the constant, deep motion of something large slicing through the sea. The scent of salt, varnished wood, and expensive luxury







