Semua Bab Deep Inside: Bab 181 - Bab 186

The rain had been falling for hours. It blurred the windows of Kovoc’s penthouse, turning the city into a smear of lights and sorrow. Kimberly stood at the edge of the glass wall, barefoot, wearing one of his black shirts, oversized, swallowing her frame. Behind her, the room still smelled of gunpowder and whiskey, the scent of Kovoc’s world.He watched her from the shadows.His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, dark hair mussed, veins still standing in his hands from what he’d done an hour ago, killing the man who’d betrayed her. The man who had once been her brother.Kimberly hadn’t cried. She couldn’t. Something inside her had cracked cleanly instead. Her heart didn’t know how to feel for both men, one who destroyed her innocence, and one who had avenged it.“I thought revenge would make me feel lighter,” she whispered. Her voice trembled, but it didn’t break. “It didn’t. It feels like I’m carrying him inside me… and you too.”Kovoc’s voice came low, gravel-dark. “You’re not meant to f

three years can turn cities into strangers.I never thought I’d see Professor Killian Ross again, not outside of my dreams, not after all the quiet heartbreak and all the things we never said. Life had its way of sweeping us in opposite directions. I graduated, left the university, changed cities, fell in and out of love, built a career in publishing.And yet, sometimes when the rain hit glass or a voice in a crowd dipped low and thoughtful, I’d hear him again, You shouldn’t hide your fire, Miss Lyn.He became a memory stitched into everything I wrote.So when I walked into the gallery that night, a charity exhibit celebrating urban poets and saw him across the room, it felt like stepping into one of my own poems.He stood by a wall of paintings, hands in his pockets, wearing a black suit that didn’t look new but looked right. A decade had sharpened him: streaks of gray at his temples, the same deep-set eyes, older now, quieter but not softer.And those eyes found me instantly.Our

Jocelyn's POV Rain licks the city windows like it’s trying to wash the night clean. It doesn’t succeed. I’m still thinking of him.Marcel Ruiz’s voice won’t leave me, low, rough, deliberate. You belong to me, even if I never touch you.I’ve been standing by the window for an hour, barefoot, the hem of my satin slip brushing my thighs, pretending I can ignore the storm outside and the storm in my chest.I almost laugh when I hear the knock. Soft, once. Then again, harder, sharper, the kind that demands obedience.My breath catches. No one else knocks like that.I open the door, and there he is, dark suit, drenched collar, eyes that look like they’ve followed me all night.He doesn’t wait for permission. He steps inside.“Marcel—” I start, but he cuts me off with a single look. The door closes behind him with a heavy click that sounds like a lock turning on something deeper than steel.The air between us hums with electricity.“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper.He takes one slow step