FAZER LOGINThe drive to the Voss estate was silent. Elara sat in the passenger seat of Damien’s car with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, watching the familiar streets slide past. She had showered and changed into jeans and a soft sweater, but she still felt marked—by his mouth, his hands, the way he had spent the night claiming every inch of her like he was trying to rewrite the six days they had lost. Damien’s hand rested on her thigh the entire way, thumb stroking absently, as if he needed the contact to keep himself grounded. Neither of them spoke about what waited at the end of the drive. Victor opened the front door himself before they reached it. He looked older than he had a week ago. The usual easy warmth was gone, replaced by something measured and exhausted. His eyes moved from Damien’s face to Elara’s, then to the place where Damien’s hand rested at the small of her back. Something flickered there—pain, resignation, a reluctant understanding. “Come in,” he said. They
Six days of not answering her calls. Six days of deleting her texts without reading them after the first night. Six days of sleeping on the couch because the bed still smelled like her. Six days of walking through his own penthouse like a ghost, every surface a reminder of where he had held her, fucked her, told her he loved her, and then left anyway. He told himself the distance was necessary. Honorable, even. Victor had drawn a line, and crossing it again would only hurt Elara more in the long run. By the sixth night the lie had worn so thin he could see straight through it. He was standing at the window with a glass of whiskey he hadn’t tasted when the elevator chimed. He knew before the doors opened. Elara stepped into the penthouse wearing a coat over a simple black dress, hair loose, eyes red-rimmed but fierce. She looked like she hadn’t slept either. The second the doors closed behind her she dropped the coat and the overnight bag she was carrying. “You don’t get
Victor’s office occupied the entire top floor of the Voss Holdings building—floor-to-ceiling glass, dark wood, the quiet authority of a man who had built something lasting. Damien had been in this room a hundred times over the years. Board meetings. Late-night strategy sessions. Celebratory drinks after deals closed. It had always felt like neutral ground. Today it felt like a courtroom. Victor stood behind his desk when Damien entered, jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled up, the three printed photographs laid out in a neat row on the polished surface like evidence. He didn’t offer a handshake. He didn’t offer a seat. Damien closed the door and waited. For a long moment the only sound was the low hum of the city far below. Victor picked up the middle photograph—the one of the elevator—and held it up. “How long?” Damien’s voice came out steady. “Since the night of your birthday.” Victor’s laugh was short and humorless. He set the photo down carefully, as if sudden movemen
Victor Voss sat at the kitchen island for a long time after the photographs finished loading. The first one was almost innocent: Damien’s black Bentley entering the underground garage of his building, Elara visible in the passenger seat through the windshield. The second was not. A long-lens shot of the two of them in the elevator, Damien’s hand in her hair, her body pinned against the mirrored wall, mouths fused. The third showed Elara leaving through the service entrance at dawn, coat pulled tight, hair a mess, the unmistakable walk of a woman who had been thoroughly used. Victor’s coffee went cold. He did not call Damien. He did not storm upstairs to wake his daughter. He simply sat there as the morning light strengthened across the marble counters, the quiet of the house pressing in around him, and felt something fundamental crack inside the life he thought he understood. --- Elara woke in her own bed to the sound of her phone vibrating against the nightstand. Da
The seventy-two hours Julian had given himself felt like a noose tightening around Damien’s throat even though he didn’t yet know it existed. He spent the first day after the dinner trying to create distance. He buried himself in work, declined Victor’s invitation for drinks, and left Elara’s latest text unanswered for six full hours. The message had been simple. **I meant what I said last night.** He stared at it until the words burned into his vision, then locked the phone in his desk drawer like that might stop the way her voice kept echoing in his head. *I’m falling in love with you.* He had no right to those words. He had no right to the way they made something young and reckless open up under his ribs. By evening he needed air that didn’t smell like her. He accepted an invitation he would normally have ignored—a charity gala at the modern art museum, black-tie, full of the same faces he had been navigating for twenty years. He told himself it was networking. In tru
The invitation arrived on heavy cream stationery embossed with the Voss family crest. *Private dinner. Saturday. 8 p.m. Close friends only.* Victor had decided to celebrate the Singapore deal closing. Twelve people. Intimate. The kind of night where everyone would be watching everyone else over expensive wine and slow-roasted lamb. Damien almost declined. Then Elara texted from the new number she rotated every few days. **Wear the black shirt. The one that makes your arms look illegal. I’ll be thinking about them holding me down the entire night.** He stared at the message for a long time. Then he typed back: **Be careful what you ask for.** --- The private dining room at the estate glowed with candlelight and low conversation. Crystal. White roses. The soft clink of silver against porcelain. Victor sat at the head of the table, expansive and proud. Damien was seated two chairs down on his right. Elara sat directly across from Damien, wearing a deep green dress t
Bella lay wide awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above her. Julian’s soft snores filled the room, steady and peaceful, like nothing in the world could touch him. She turned her head slightly and looked at him. His face looked so calm, so innocent in sleep. The same face
"But he didn’t buy me any… then who did he buy it for?Bella sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Julian’s phone until the screen went dark. The words on that receipt kept flashing in her mind — sheer black lace, crotchless, garter straps, over a thousand dollars. She felt a sharp sting behind he
Bella woke up with a heavy weight pressing on her chest. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the bedroom. Julian was still asleep beside her, his arm loosely draped over her waist. For a moment, she stared at his peaceful face, guilt twisting sharply in her stomach.L
"Bella,what are you doing?" jax asked shocked.Bella’s heart slammed against her ribs so violently she thought she might faint. She yanked the blanket up to her chin with trembling hands, but it was useless. Jax had already seen everything.She was mortified.“Jax… I…” Her voice cracked. She could







