Novels by Dark Fem

Polly’s POVI thought I could take the hit. I thought it would sting for a moment, like ripping off a band-aid.But when James sent the reply—just one line—"You filthy whore. Don’t bother coming back."It felt like my chest was collapsing in slow motion.He didn’t ask for an explanation. Didn’t even try to confirm if it was real. He didn’t need to. He knew Logan’s name on my lips wasn't a fluke or a lie. Anyone could tell. And if that didn't hurt his freaking ego, I didn't know what else could.By noon, my father was on the phone. By one, I was disowned."I never want to see you set foot in this house again you fucking disgrace!"By three, my bags were waiting outside the gate. And then the sky opened and it began to rain. Of course it rained.I found shelter in the only place I could think of: Mick’s Bar. A place that smelled of old leather, bourbon, and cigarette. I curled up in a corner booth like a stray and tried not to cry.It didn’t work."Jesus, Polly."Tara slid into the boot

Logan’s POVThe room was quiet, save for the soft ticking of the antique clock on the wall. Everyone else had gone home hours ago, but I stayed behind, like always, me, a glass of scotch I hadn’t touched, and a damn picture I couldn’t stop staring at.It was old, worn around the edges. My grandfather, still strong in that photo, stood holding a girl with wild red curls and a grin that made your chest ache. Seraphina, she was called. The girl I was supposed to marry. The last wish of a dying man. A promise I hadn’t yet fulfilled.Didn't Grandfather say he made that promise to her father as a result of his sacrifice. Taking a bullet in place of him and dying in the process. Too bad his daughter had been moved immediately after his death. I hadn't found out what foster home she'd been placed as well.I stared at the photo, as if she’d blink and come alive. As if the kid version of her would look up at me and say “I’m here.”But she never did.Instead, my mind drifted, uninvited, to someo

Polly's POVHis hands were fire. One gripped my thigh while the other slid between my legs, fingers slow, teasing and torturous. I gasped, my body arching against the desk as he leaned in, breath hot against my neck."You’ve been begging for this," Logan whispered, his lips brushing my ear. "So stop pretending you’re not desperate for me."My blouse was open. His mouth replaced his fingers, kissing down my chest, tasting me like I was something exotic on his menu. I moaned, fingers tangled in his soft curls, dragging him closer. I wanted him to devour me.He pushed my knees apart with one sharp motion and looked up at me with those burning brown eyes. I couldn't wait to feel those lips on the warmest part of my body that was already dripping wet."Say it, Polly."I swallowed. "Say what?""That you want me to ruin you."I hesitated not because I didn't want him to but I was too excited, too neck deep in pleasure that all I could say was a shuddering "yes". And then—My alarm blared.I

Polly's POVThe chicken was dry and the wine was sweet. And the lies were served steaming hot with a side of smug smiles.I sat at the dinner table like a ghost, hands folded tightly in my lap, the diamond on my ring finger suddenly too heavy. My father, Liam Dennis, was in one of his grand moods, praising James for his "sharp business instincts" and gushing over Shana’s recent charity feature in some glossy magazine.No one looked at me. No one asked how I was doing. And yet, everything inside me was screaming.I stared at the fork on my plate like it could save me. My eyes drifted up to James. He looked just like he did last night when I found him balls-deep in my stepsister, only now, he wore a tailored navy suit and the same cologne that still clung to the walls of Father’s study.My fingers trembled."I need to say something," I said, almost choking on the words.Silence fell like a knife dropped on porcelain. James raised an eyebrow. Shana didn’t even blink.Father sighed dramat

Polly's POVThey say every family has a star, and mine shines so brightly she burns the rest of us to ash. Yet, Shana Dennis, my stepsister, was the golden girl, the spotlight-gripper. Born with long, honey-blonde waves, ocean-blue eyes, and a waist so tiny you'd think she was sculpted, not born. She knew how to flutter her lashes just enough to get what she wanted. She wore red like it was her birthright and seduction like a perfume.And then there was me, Pollyana Dennis. The other daughter. The often forgotten one.My reflection was all soft red hair twisted into a no-nonsense bun, oversized glasses always slipping down my nose, and plain skirts that swallowed my hips. I wore beige like it was armor and silence like a habit. Every time someone touched me, even slightly, I flinched. My skin didn’t trust anyone, not even me.And still, I said yes.When my father sat at the head of our painfully long dining table and said, "Polly, you’re going to marry James Wellington," I didn’t argu