The glass walls of the Deckard mansion glittered against the city skyline like a fortress of untouchable wealth. Inside, crystal chandeliers dripped light across polished marble, every surface gleaming as if begging to reflect its owners’ perfection.And there she was, Elara, the maid.She’d been hired only two weeks ago. Nineteen years old when she applied, but twenty-one today, her first birthday spent in the billionaire household, scrubbing surfaces so pristine they hardly needed cleaning. Her black uniform clung to her curves, the starched white apron only making her look more fragile, more innocent. She had never touched a man. Not once.The Deckard brothers noticed.Cowin, the eldest, was thirty-one and ruthless, his empire built on cold decisions and brutal takeovers. His jaw was always clenched, his black suit sharp enough to cut. He saw Elara’s downcast eyes when he passed her in the halls, and every night he found himself replaying the soft tremble of her lips.Damien, the s
Adrian Vescari: ruthless mafia kingpin, cold-blooded, feared by all.Selene Moretti: his new stepsister, beautiful, untouchable, yet caught in the shadows of his world...The night their families merged into one, Selene Moretti told herself she would keep her distance from Adrian Vescari. The man wasn’t just dangerous, he was lethal. Power wrapped around him like smoke, each movement sharp, deliberate, and full of command. He didn’t just walk into a room, he consumed it.But no matter how many times she tried to pretend she didn’t notice, her eyes betrayed her. He was sin and shadow in one.It was after midnight when she padded into the marble kitchen, the mansion eerily silent. She wore nothing but a silk slip, thin straps sliding off her shoulders, her bare feet cold against the floor. She thought she was alone, until a low voice came from the shadows.“You shouldn’t walk around like that, Selene.”Her breath caught. Adrian leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled, tattoos curli
The war had ended, but for Henry Warner, the battles never truly left. He woke some nights drenched in sweat, the phantom echoes of gunfire and screams clinging to his skin. Yet, when his eyes adjusted to the quiet glow of dawn, when his hand brushed against soft golden hair and the warm curve of Colette’s hip beneath the sheet, the world steadied again.She was his ceasefire, his home.The small farmhouse they lived in stood far from barracks and marching drills. Colette had insisted on the countryside, a place where her father could visit but not loom, and where Henry could finally shed the uniform that had clung to his skin like shackles.This morning, though, he wore nothing but loose trousers, the drawstring hanging untied as he leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching Colette fuss with a basket of eggs she’d just brought in.She was barefoot, her hair tumbling down her back in soft waves, the thin white dress she wore nearly sheer in the sunlight. He caught himself staring
The barracks were unusually quiet that evening, the kind of hush that pressed against Henry’s skin like a warning. He had been ordered to help with maintenance in the mess hall, but his mind wasn’t on work. It never was anymore. Not since Colette. Not since the first stolen kiss in the shadows of the courtyard.She was everywhere, in his lungs when he breathed, in his chest when it ached, in his cock when it pulsed to life just at the thought of her lips.The Sergeant’s daughter. Untouchable. Forbidden. His superior’s blood. And yet, Henry could not stay away.When the hall cleared, he slipped outside into the cooling night, his boots crunching gravel, his heartbeat a drum of reckless want. He was on his way to his bunk when he caught sight of her, Colette standing by the back of the supply shed, her dress pale in the moonlight.Her hair caught silver light, loose curls falling to her shoulders, her body cloaked in the simple summer dress she favored when sneaking away from her father
The tent was still dark when Henry stirred, his body heavy with exhaustion yet alert the moment his senses registered the warmth beside him. Colette lay draped across his chest, her breathing steady, hair tangled in messy curls that spilled across his skin. For a fleeting moment, Henry allowed himself to pretend, pretend that he wasn’t just a soldier who had stolen his sergeant’s daughter for the night, that she wasn’t forbidden, that this wasn’t a dangerous affair that could end his career and destroy her father’s trust.But the way her fingers curled lightly against his ribs, the way her thigh brushed his hip even in sleep, it tore at him. Last night had not been enough. Not nearly.“Colette,” he whispered into her hair, pressing a kiss against the crown of her head.She stirred, stretching against him like a cat before opening her eyes. That mischievous glint was already there, soft but knowing.“Morning, soldier,” she murmured, voice husky from sleep.His throat tightened. “You s
Henry didn’t sleep much that night.The bunkhouse was filled with the rough snoring of men who’d been drinking and laughing too hard, but his mind was still caught on Colette Johnberg. The way her laugh had spilled out under the stars, the faint blush that had colored her cheeks when she caught him staring, the way her hair had fallen loose around her shoulders, framing a face too lovely for a man like him to dream about.She was the sergeant’s daughter, untouchable. Worse than untouchable, dangerous.Yet when he finally drifted into shallow sleep, it was her soft voice that haunted him, her mouth he imagined against his, the sway of her hips when she walked.By dawn, his hunger was unbearable.Henry spent the morning on drills, sweat pouring down his back beneath his uniform, muscles burning as he trained. He’d thought exhaustion would dull the ache inside him, but when the soldiers were dismissed for the afternoon, his body carried him without hesitation to the edge of camp, to the