LOGIN"I should’ve killed him the night he betrayed me. Instead, I kept him alive — chained, bleeding, and trembling beneath my hands." Nicholas Rhodes, heir to the Rhodes crime syndicate, had everything: control, power, loyalty. Until him. Rafael “Rafe” Vega — the man he once trusted with his life — turned on him in the middle of a war, selling secrets to their rivals. But when fate forces their worlds to collide again, Nicholas doesn’t kill Rafe. He takes him back. As a captive. As a weapon. As a reminder of everything he lost. Hatred was supposed to keep them apart. Instead, it burns hotter than desire — twisting into something neither of them can name. Obsession becomes their language. Betrayal becomes their bond. And love… love is the bullet waiting in the chamber. Because in their world, love doesn’t save. It destroys. --- Main Characters: Nicholas Rhodes— 29 Cold, ruthless, born into blood and chaos. After Rafe’s betrayal, he’s become darker — quieter, crueler. He claims he feels nothing anymore… but Rafe’s name still tastes like venom and longing on his tongue. Rafael “Rafe” Vega — 26 Former hitman and Nicholas’s right hand, before he turned traitor. Charming, unpredictable, and carrying his own secrets. His betrayal wasn’t what it seemed — but he’d rather die than beg Nicholas to understand.
View MoreThe morning light comes gently here.Rafe notices it first.It slips through the thin curtains in pale gold ribbons, warming the wooden floor, touching the edge of the bed like it’s asking permission. Nothing crashes. Nothing burns. No alarms in his head. Just quiet.He lies still for a moment, listening.Birds.Wind moving through trees.The slow, steady breathing beside him.Nicholas Rhodes—once feared by half the city, once carved from ice and blood—is asleep on his stomach, one arm flung across Rafe’s waist like an anchor. His hair is mussed, softer than Rafe ever thought possible, a faint crease between his brows that never fully disappears even in rest.Rafe smiles.He turns carefully, slow enough not to wake him, and studies the rise and fall of Nick’s back. The scar on his abdomen peeks from beneath the sheet—faded now, healed but permanent. A reminder of how close everything came to ending.Rafe leans forward and presses a kiss there anyway. Gentle. Reverent.Nick stirs. A lo
Rafe The café feels almost normal again. That’s the most dangerous thing about it. The sun pours through the front windows, warm and forgiving, dust motes floating like nothing bad has ever happened in this city. The bell over the door chimes lazily when customers come and go. Cups clink. Someone laughs. I’m behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, fingers steady as I wipe down a table. For the first time in weeks, my chest isn’t tight. For the first time since my memory came back, I’m not waiting for blood. Nick sits in the corner booth with his jacket draped over the seat beside him, sleeves pushed back, dark hair falling into his eyes as he pretends—badly—to read the same page of the newspaper for the tenth time. He’s watching the door. He’s always watching the door. I bring him his coffee without asking. Black. No sugar. He looks up when I set it down, and for a second, that sharp, dangerous man I once followed into hell softens into something almost gentle. “You’re smil
NicholasI always knew this day would come.The day Rafe stopped being a memory and became a weapon again.It starts with silence.Not the peaceful kind—the kind that presses against your ears until you know something is watching you breathe.Rafe stands at the window of my penthouse, the city laid bare beneath him like a map of sins I’ve already committed. He’s changed since last night. Not in the obvious ways—his body is still lean, scarred, familiar—but there’s a stillness in him now.The stillness of a man who remembers how to kill.“You’re thinking too loudly,” he says without turning around.I almost smile.“You always hated when I paced.”“I hated when you planned without me.”There it is.The line we crossed.I step closer. “You don’t have to do this.”He finally turns.His eyes—God—his eyes are fully awake now. No fog. No softness. Just fire banked under control.“I already did,” he replies. “The moment I remembered your blood on my hands.”My jaw tightens.“That wasn’t your
Rafe The dream doesn’t come gently. It never does. It rips. I’m back in that warehouse—concrete sweating, lights flickering like they’re afraid to stay on. My wrists burn from the rope. Blood trickles down my temple, warm and slow, like time itself mocking me. Damien crouches in front of me. Smiling. “You always were loyal to the wrong man,” he says. I spit blood at his shoes. “I chose him.” That’s when he laughs. And everything fractures. THE NIGHT I DIED I remember now. All of it. Not pieces. Not echoes. Everything. They didn’t just capture me. They hunted me. Because Nicholas Rhodes was untouchable—surrounded by walls, guards, money, myth. So they came for the one thing he loved enough to bleed for. Me. Damien leaned close that night, voice soft, intimate. “Kill Nicholas. Walk away clean. Or we take our time with you. And then we kill him anyway.” I didn’t hesitate. I laughed. “You don’t understand,” I told him. “If you touch him, the world ends.” He though






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