Novel-novel oleh Nimilaska

(Damian’s POV)The night we spent in the shared bed was not restorative; it was devastating. I hadn't slept. I had merely existed in a state of hyper-aware containment, my body's natural heat overriding the sophisticated climate control of the penthouse, all of it directed toward the man curled against my back. Waking up to the scent of him, the feel of his soft, steady breathing against my shoulder, was the final, brutal proof that my control was not merely compromised, it was surgically removed.I am a failure. I am allowing a revenge plot to take root within my own fortress. I am risking everything I built for the temporary, agonizing peace of holding him.Now, I was seated at the head of the confere

(Logan’s POV)The irony was not lost on me: the very chaos I had carefully seeded with the Thorne leak, the one that had Titan’s stock shivering slightly, was now being physically contained by the man I was trying to destroy. Damian was in full lockdown mode, not just because of the press but because of something he wouldn’t name, something that had tightened his security protocols to an impregnable, paranoid degree.For two days, I’d watched him manage the fallout, his face a granite mask, only relaxing when he was tending to my still-braced wrist, a gesture of intimate, terrifying ownership. The heat of the shared kisses was still potent, but my mission was intact. The subtle damage was done. Now, I just needed to escape and watch the ripple turn into a wave.I was restless, stari

(Damian’s POV)The morning had devolved into a necessary, grinding exercise in damage control. Logan’s calculated leak to Markus Thorne, the story accusing me of letting "personal spite sabotage the season", was metastasizing rapidly across the financial newsfeeds. Titan Energy’s stock had dipped a fractional but irritating amount, enough to warrant three unscheduled calls with the Board.Insubordination. Recklessness. Emotional instability. The accusations were poison, meticulously targeted to dismantle the one thing I valued more than wealth: my reputation for absolute control. The irony was suffocating; the accusation was entirely true, yet I was determined to manage the fallout with cold, fabricated precision.I was riding the private elevator down from the penthouse,

(Logan’s POV)My wrist was healing. My legs were no longer throbbing from Damian’s brutal penance. And my heart was dangerously close to compromising my entire mission.He thinks the kiss was a contract. He thinks the intimacy in the locker room bought him silence and surrender. He thinks he’s mastered the variable. He’s wrong. Proximity is just a tool, Damian. And now, I use it.I was alone, which in Damian Blackwell’s penthouse was a relative term. The chef was gone, the driver was downstairs, and Damian himself was confined to his home office, three doors down, managing the fallout of the gala incident. He was dealing with the league’s quiet displeasure over his highly public, possessive display. It was the perfect window.

First Dinner (The Alpha’s Den)(Damian’s POV)The silence after Logan's admission, "I’m tired of fighting what you feel", was the most dangerous sound I had ever heard. It wasn't surrender; it was a shift in battle strategy. He wasn't fighting me anymore; he was fighting the logic of my defenses.I enforced a new kind of proximity immediately. After an antiseptic five-minute shower in the training facility, I drove Logan back to my penthouse. This time, there was no pretext of injury or liability. This was about containing the truth he had just exposed.The massive, silent space of the apartment had always felt like a necessary shield. It was a

(Damian’s POV)The taste of him was a brand on my mouth, a chemical residue of rebellion and need. It had been twenty-four hours since I drove Logan Cross home from the gala and left him in my guest room, but every interaction, every passing thought, was colored by the desperate, savage urgency of that kiss in the service hallway.I lost. I broke every rule. I confessed my slavery, and then I acted on the only impulse I hadn't yet named. The punishment must be absolute, for him, for the transgression, and most of all, for myself.The practice I ran that afternoon was a scorched-earth policy. It wasn't conditioning; it was a reckoning. I ordered the coach to leave, taking over the ice myself, pushing the team to the point of collapse, and Logan most of all. I put him on the wing, then immediately shifted him to defense, dem

We had reached the clearing near the river, the one I’d been tracking for hours. The moon reflected off the water like a mirror, and I used it to gauge the terrain. My eyes scanned the treeline constantly. My mind calculated, recalculated, adjusted. They were out there. They always were. And they weren’t just looking, they were hunting.Adrian’s hand in mine was tight, almost painfully so, but it anchored me. He was scared, yes, but also stubborn. Defiant. That defiance of his was dangerous—but it was also… irresistible. I hated that he unsettled me this way.“Are you okay?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. His chest heaved, his legs trembled.“I’m alive,” he said, voice sharp despite exhaustion. “Isn’t that enough?”

Adrian sat at his desk, staring at his phone. The message from Nathan still glowed on the screen, the words circling his mind like poison.Meet me tonight. I have proof Soren isn’t telling you everything.He told himself to delete it. To trust Soren. To believe that everything they’d shared wasn’t just another layer of lies. But the longer he stared, the heavier the silence felt.When Soren came out of the shower, Adrian quickly locked his phone. “You’re quiet,” Soren said, towel in hand.“Just tired,” Adrian lied, forcing a smile. “Did you talk to Clara?”“She’s gathering documents about the board meeting. We’ll need every vote we can get.” He dried his hair, then sat beside Adrian on the edge of the bed. “Tomorrow decides everything.”Adrian nodded slowly, but his chest ached with unease. “What if Nathan does something before then?”“Then I’ll handle it,” Soren said firmly. “He’s underestimated me before.”Adrian wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe everything Soren said, bu

Rain poured through the city that night, washing over glass towers and dim streetlights like the world was trying to start over. Inside the penthouse, Adrian sat on the couch with a blanket over his shoulders, staring at the muted TV. Every channel seemed to show his face, replaying clips of the press conference where Soren had stood beside him.It should’ve made him feel safe. Instead, it made him feel trapped.The door opened suddenly, and Soren stepped in, his black coat dripping with rain. He looked exhausted, his hair damp, his jaw tight. “You’re still awake,” he said quietly.Adrian turned off the TV. “You didn’t come back for hours.”“I had to meet with my legal team,” Soren said, unbuttoning his coat. “Victor’s moving faster than I thought. He’s called for a private meeting with the board. He wants them to vote me out as interim CEO.”Adrian’s eyes widened. “He can’t do that.”Soren gave a humorless laugh. “He’s Victor Hale. He can do anything when people owe him favors.”Adri

The morning after the press conference, the world had changed for both Soren and Adrian. The headlines were everywhere, photos of Soren holding Adrian’s hand, his calm statement defending him, and his direct refusal to annul the marriage despite Victor’s threats. Every article seemed to ask the same question: Has the ruthless heir fallen for his scandalous husband?Adrian scrolled through the flood of notifications on his phone until his chest felt heavy. Every comment, every tweet, every whisper had his name in it. Gold-digger. Homewrecker. Con artist. They tore into him like knives. Some even dragged his late father, accusing him of being a crook, too.He threw the phone on the couch and pressed his palms over his face. “God, make it stop…”S

The world turned against Adrian overnight.One morning, his name was trending for the wrong reasons: “gold-digger,” “fraud,” “con artist.” News outlets twisted every piece of truth into scandal. His photo, once hidden in Soren’s shadow, was everywhere,mocked, dissected, judged. Celeste had made sure of that.She didn’t just leak the story. She built it. Articles appeared with “sources close to the Blackbourne family” claiming Adrian trapped Soren for money, manipulated his emotions, and forced a marriage to secure wealth. Some even suggested he’d lied about his past.By afternoon, Adrian couldn’t step outside without someone snapping a photo.He sat curled up on the couch, the television blaring another cruel headline:“The Billionaire’s Mistake: Did Soren Blackbourne Fall for a Scam?”His hands trembled as he muted the sound. The silence that followed was heavy and sharp.When Soren entered the room, Adrian didn’t look up. “They’re calling me a liar,” he said quietly. “A thief. Even

Adrian’s POVThe forest didn’t end. Every direction looked the same, dark trunks, wet leaves, and the faint smell of smoke still clinging to the air. My legs ached, my lungs burned, but Soren didn’t stop running. His grip on my hand was tight, like if he let go, everything would disappear.When we finally slowed down, I collapsed against a tree, struggling to breathe. The world around us was quiet again, except for the sound of wind brushing through the branches.“They’re gone,” I said, trying to convince myself more than him.Soren turned in slow circles, scanning the area. His shirt was torn, his hair dripping water onto his face, and yet he looked calm. Too calm.“They’ll regroup,” he said. “We need to stay ahead of them.”I groaned. “We’ve been running for hours, Soren. I can barely feel my legs.”He finally looked at me, his ha