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Alessia Volkov, the ice-princess heiress to a powerful Russian syndicate, believes her life is mapped out: a strategic marriage to secure an alliance. But on the night of her engagement gala, her world is shattered. Dante Moretti, the most feared and ruthless Mafia Don in the city, storms the event. His reason? A blood debt owed by her fiancé's family. And he’s taking Alessia as collateral. Dragged from a life of opulent privilege, Alessia is thrown into a gilded cage: Dante’s impenetrable penthouse high above the city. Her defiance is immediate and fierce. She fights him with every weapon she has, venomous words, calculated escapes, and sheer, unbreakable will. But Dante is a master of breaking things. He doesn't use fists; he uses desire. His relentless, calculated seduction is a war of attrition against her body and mind. A rough hand pinning her wrists against the cold glass wall. A bruising kiss that tastes like victory and sin. A whispered threat that sends a shiver of unwanted arousal straight to her core. As the lines between captor and captive blur, a dangerous, twisted passion ignites. Their encounters are explosive battles of dominance and surrender, each feverish fuck chipping away at her resistance until her hatred transforms into a dark, addictive need. She begins to crave his touch, his possession, his punishing cock. But outside their penthouse fortress, enemies are closing in. The very war that brought them together threatens to tear them apart. Alessia must decide: is she the prize in this bloody conflict, or is she the queen destined to rule beside the king who stole her? This is a story of obsession, betrayal, and a love so violent it can only be born in the dark.

After ten years studying interior design overseas, I came back to my hometown to do work that mattered to the people who raised me. I offered the full package, from site survey to soft furnishings. The materials were chosen by hand. The price was fair to the bone. The town had just gone through a redevelopment. Everyone was getting new units. With the new family policy, every family wanted a third bedroom too. My business was good. Customers from the next county were driving in. Then a girl just back from a city college kicked open my studio with her phone on a livestream and her neighbors at her shoulder. "This is the dishonest one. Look at her. She has been ripping the village off." "In the city, an eighty-square-meter unit can be done for twenty thousand dollars. She is charging eighty." "That's a sixty-thousand-dollar margin. Sixty thousand. Right out of our pockets." The village fell in line behind her. They demanded the difference back. When I refused, they smashed my studio. They beat me into a coma. The pile-on online killed me. When I opened my eyes again, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I would refund every single one of them. And then I would tear out every single thing I had installed. Let's see what twenty thousand dollars actually buys you.

Do you know what he must go through in order to attain her? This is his story; of a most unlikely love and of danger: Willy is a disadvantaged man in New York city— who suffers from amnesia and sadly cannot remember his past; The only thing that he could vaugely remember was his name. He finds himself stranded on the streets as a homeless man. His past shrouded in a deep cloud of mystery; there were deep unresolved questions: Who was he? What had happened and now he is on the streets? One day he met a strange man who proposes to him— a life changing offer: Willy saw that as an opportunity to lead a normal life and to marry the sweet girl of his dreams.

After receiving his bonus, my husband, John Anderson, used his savings and bought his mother a house in the city. Considering my mother-in-law, Mary Anderson’s age, it was not ideal for her to stay alone in the countryside. Hence, I transferred the money without any hesitation. However, when John went to fetch his mother for house-viewing, she appeared unexpectedly before my door. “Helen, I can understand that you feel unwell due to your pregnancy, but my husband left me so little money. I can’t give it all to you.” I was dumbfounded. Just when I was about to clarify matters, my husband called me. “Helen, Mom doesn’t like this house. The other house she likes is three hundred thousand dollars more expensive. Quick, transfer me the money. “Oh, by the way, I’m afraid Mom will feel bad about this, so I didn’t tell her the actual price. When we visit her, please don’t accidentally tell her this information. I’m afraid she’d feel embarrassed.” I touched my flat belly. “Mary, did you say that I’m pregnant?” The next second, Mary’s phone started to ring. “Mom, Helen’s feeling uncomfortable, and she wants to buy a massage chair. Please send me more money!” Mary was also dumbfounded. “Aren’t you John’s wife?”

My father loved silence. He believed noise was the mark of lesser people, so he installed a decibel meter in our home. Speaking above 40 decibels meant that we would have to pay him 10 dollars, laughing above 60 decibels meant 50 dollars, and crying or throwing a tantrum was a serious offense at 100 dollars per second. The year I turned four, I fell and broke my arm. I did not make a single sound. I bit down so hard that I cracked two teeth, but I saved thousands in noise fees. He praised me for it and called me a "high-value child," one that was worth the investment. I treasured that compliment and observed the rules carefully, keeping the house wrapped in suffocating silence. Then came the stormy night a thief broke in. He had a knife and was creeping toward my mother as she slept, and I watched it all from the gap in the wardrobe where I was hiding. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shriek and wake my father, to do something, anything. However, my eyes drifted to the decibel meter on the wall, and my hand found nothing but an empty pocket. I did not have enough allowance. One scream would cost hundreds, and I simply could not afford it.

I'm the top salesperson at a tutoring center. Payday comes, and my commission is 50 cents. I'm so furious that I march straight to my boss to demand answers, but his secretary, Sasha Watson, steps in front of me. She digs through her pocket, pulls out 50 cents, and flicks it straight at my face in front of everyone. "Here's your 50 cents!" My ears ring. Heat crawls up my neck and into my skull. "Ms. Watson, this has to be a mistake. I closed 1.5 million dollars on my own last month. My team pulls in over three million dollars. My commission should be at least 200 grand." Sasha rolls her eyes. She reaches into her wallet, pulls out a dollar bill, and slaps it against my cheek. "Stop barking! Fine, I'll throw you a dollar. Keep the change!" I'm about to lose it. "My mom is still waiting on that 200 grand for her surgery. Without it, she could die." The coworkers around us start whispering. "50 cents? For the top salesperson? That's insane!" "Lower your voice. She's the boss's niece! What she says goes. Unless you want to get fired, pretend you didn't hear anything." I turn away, pull out my phone, and dial our biggest competitor. "I'm in. Five million dollars a year."