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Last Updated:
2025-04-22 23:23:58
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Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father Blood in the water
Blood in the WaterWord traveled faster than bullets.Milo had stepped back. Not in whispers, not in back-alley murmurs. No, this was announced in the language criminals respected most: silence followed by blood.The first to test me was the Andalusian crew. They intercepted a Bratva shipment at the coastal docks,six men masked in black, loaded with guns, and just dumb enough to think I was Milo-light.The second was subtler. A whisper bounty. My photo, printed and folded into a red envelope, was passed around in gambling dens and underground rings. It carried no price. That was the insult,as if I wasn’t worth a number.I stayed still. I let the fire come.Because queens don’t chase chaos. They weaponize it.I stood at the window of the meeting room, watching the city breathe beneath me. Somewhere below, an apartment had gone up in flames."You don’t test a queen with fire," I said to no one in particular. "You drown her enemies in it."My orders were quiet. Precise. I didn’t scream.
Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father reeked
The dining hall reeked of fear.The body was gone,cleared away like an afterthought. But the ghosts lingered. Wine glasses stood half-full. Chairs shoved back in panic. Silverware scattered like dropped confessions. The chandelier still sparkled above it all, indifferent and glittering.I walked barefoot.No heels. No need.My gown whispered across the marble as I moved between abandoned seats, a goblet in hand, the rim kissed with wine and something darker. My shadow stretched long across the floor, cutting through candlelight like a blade.The chandelier’s gold arms trembled above me. Still lit. Still proud. Like it hadn’t just watched a man die.The wine in my glass swirled like blood, catching the low light, still warm from the touch of fear and heat of deceit. A thin ribbon of it dripped down my knuckle, over the ring Milo had given me months ago, before I earned it.Milo stood in the shadows, back against
Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father Iron
The room smelled like smoke, iron, and something older,blood maybe, or betrayal.Milo leaned against the edge of his desk, one arm bandaged, the other curled around a glass of bourbon he hadn’t touched. His suit was still stained at the collar. His eye was split. But his presence? Unshaken.“You should be in a hospital,” I said, not out of concern. Just observation.He smiled. Not soft. Sharp.“So should the three men I killed. But they’re not breathing anymore.”I closed the door behind me, slow, deliberate. My heels clicked like a countdown.“Why am I here?”He set the glass down. Didn’t sip. Just looked at me like I already knew the answer.“It’s time,” he said. “I want you beside me. Officially. Publicly.”“I’ve always been beside you.”“Not like this.”He tossed a small velvet box across the desk. I didn’t flinch. Caught it. Opened it. into it like a crest: a r
Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father edge
I gripped the edge of the chair beside me and said the only thing I could. My voice wasn’t a whisper, but it wasn’t strong either. It hung in the air like breath before a scream. “You found me.” Milo didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. He took two steps in, slow and steady, the way you approach a ghost you still love. “You wanted to be found,” he said, voice low. “Even if you don’t want to admit it. Even if part of you still thinks you can outrun the ending.” I stared at him, chest tight. “Wanting to be found isn’t the same as being ready to be seen,” I said. And the silence that followed felt like it cut deeper than anything we’d said in months. I took a step forward. It hurt. Everything hurt,my legs, my back, my pride. But I stood tall anyway, like the ache was just part of the costume. “He was all I had left,” I said. The words felt scraped out of me. “Everyt
Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father Creaked
The estate creaked in places it never had before.Not from old pipes or the weight of weather,but from something subtler.The way grief lived in silence.It shifted the air.Softened the carpets.Made door hinges groan even when they didn’t move.The house was mourning too.I couldn’t sleep. Not really.I’d been staring at the ceiling for over an hour, tracing the hairline cracks that hadn’t been there yesterday.My hands lay folded over my stomach, like they were waiting for something to return.But nothing was coming.Not dreams. Not peace. Just the steady weight of breath in a body that refused to shut down.My chest rose and fell like I was practicing being alive.And maybe I was.Every inhale tasted stale. Every exhale felt like surrender.I wasn’t crying. But my ribs ached like I had been for hours.Down the hall, the light under Milo’s door hadn’t gone out.So
Affair With My my Ex's Billionaire Father Van
I didn’t move when the van pulled up. My arms locked over my chest, nails digging crescent moons into my sleeves. My jaw stayed clenched until the ache started to bloom behind my ears. It was either that,or let something leak out.The rear doors creaked open.Two men stepped forward, their movements stiff with quiet precision. No wasted motion. No words exchanged. They reached inside and lifted the casket like they’d done it a hundred times.It didn’t make a sound as they brought it down. No thud. No rattle. Just the whisper of polished wood against metal rails. I used to imagine holding him in my arms. A blanket. A lullaby. His father's eyes. My hands around his tiny body, warm and alive.But this was a different kind of cradle now.It didn’t make a sound as they brought it down. No thud. No rattle. Just the whisper of polished wood against metal rails.I stared at it, waiting for something,anything,to hit. A nois
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