Novels by LostPhoenix

It had been a week.Seven days of silk sheets, shadowed stares, and silence that pressed against her skin like a bruise she couldn't name.Riva hadn’t dared ask what she was to him now—because some part of her already knew.She was his possession. His prized entertainment. His secret.And for seven days, she endured him.His presence.His heat.His rules.But not his touch.Not again.After that night, Ares hadn’t laid a finger on her.Not out of mercy. No, never mercy.He was waiting.Letting her simmer in her own confusion, making her wonder when the next storm would hit.And it did.Just not in the way she expected.The magazine slid across the marble counter like a blade.Riva froze mid-step.The housekeeper had left it open—centerfold spread wide, bold and glossy."Moretti Tied to Rivarez Empire: Engagement Rumors Ignite the South Corridor."Photo: Ares Moretti, tux-clad, flanked by Delilah Rivarez—model, heiress, socialite. His fiancée.Riva stared at it like a wound.The date p

The mansion looked darker at night.Not just in light—but in intention. Like every shadow was waiting for her to misstep, for her to fall.Riva stepped out of the car with quiet dread, her heels clicking against the stone steps as the door opened before she could even knock.Ares stood at the top of the stairs. No jacket. Shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Cufflinks undone. Veins along his forearms like art.“You’re late,” he said softly.“It’s been exactly two hours.”“I said not a second more.” He stepped aside. “You owe me now.”Her jaw tightened, but she walked past him.The dining hall wasn’t a hall. It was a stage—long glass table, candles flickering low, wine already poured. Two plates. Two chairs.She sat without being asked. Picked up the napkin and set it in her lap like she belonged there.Ares raised a brow but took the seat opposite her.Silence hummed between them.The steak was untouched. The salad ignored. Only the wine drained.“I have conditions,” she said after several

“You’ll scream again tonight, Riva.But this time—You’ll beg for more.”His voice lingered, thick and electric. She ducked out from under his arm, spine straight despite the tremble in her chest.“I need to see my brother,” she said, voice sharp.Ares tilted his head slightly, the predator pausing before the kill.“I’ll have the driver take you.”“No—”“I wasn’t asking,” he said, turning and pulling his phone from his pocket. “He’ll be waiting at the gate. Don’t test my trust, Riva. I don’t offer it twice.”She nodded stiffly. “Fine.”But her mind had already made a different plan.When the Maybach pulled up outside the hospital, she hesitated.The driver looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Ten minutes?”She nodded. “Yes.”The moment she was out, she ducked around the side, pulled her hoodie tighter over her head, and walked past the ER entrance—straight toward the main road.She hailed a taxy. The driver didn’t question her destination.The same dim lights. The same wine-stained

The sunlight crept through the curtain like a thief, soft and slow. Riva blinked against it, muscles aching, skin bare beneath unfamiliar sheets. The bed beside her was empty. No trace of him. No words. No explanation. Just the echo of what he did to her. What she let him do.Her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache. Her thighs felt tender, her lips bruised. A scent lingered on her skin—his. Expensive. Sharp. Dangerous.She sat up slowly, the sheet dragging across her skin. And then she saw it—on the nightstand.A blank cheque. Signed. No amount.Just a signature in sharp, expensive ink.Ares Moretti.She stared at the name for a long second, her mouth dry. He hadn't said it. Not once. But he knew hers. Knew everything. And now he’d left her with a signature and silence.She stuffed the cheque into her bag, dressed wordlessly, and walked out like she hadn’t just been wrecked by a man whose last name alone could trigger headlines.At the hospital, the nurse at the front desk

“Ma’am, we can’t keep him here without payment.”Riva didn’t blink.She stood outside the ICU, her nails digging into the edge of the reception desk. Behind the glass, her brother lay unconscious—chest rising too slowly, machines breathing for him. His face was barely visible beneath the bandages, the aftermath of a collision that shattered bones and futures in a single second.“How long do I have?” she asked, voice flat.The nurse hesitated. “Till midnight. Then he’s either discharged or transferred to a government facility.”Discharged. She wanted to laugh. He couldn’t even open his eyes.Riva nodded once and walked away.No tears. No calls. No begging.She had already tried everything. No loans. No relatives. No options.Only one thing left.**The underground club didn’t have a name. Just a symbol carved into steel doors—a snake wrapped around a dollar sign.The man at the gate didn’t ask questions. He just looked her up and down, scanned her ID, then handed her a black envelope.