GOOD SIN

~ ANASTASIA ~ The first time I saw him, I was eight years old. He was the boy who'd made my life a misery, the one who'd taken pleasure in my pain. If there's anything like hate from afar, it would be me to him. But I think I should try to say that to my under-satisfied libido and clenched thighs. I shake my head, shaking the thoughts off as I rub my thighs together one last time. I have a boy-fucking-friend and lusting for that fucker shouldn't be part of the plan. He's not just my neighbour. He's the enemy. My enemy, and my family's enemy. Damien fucking Vincenzo is a bastard hiding behind a body that looks to be sculpted by the gods themselves. And if I should get the chance, I will carve his skin, inch by every bloody inch and feed his eyes to the Vultures for everything he made me go through at Crescent high. And again. I have a boyfriend. My sinfully hot neighbor who's walking around butt naked in a fucking glass penthouse without curtains shouldn't be a distraction rig

~ ANASTASIA ~ And all the memory comes rushing in again. He's probably here to pick up the remains of my shattered soul. The door was opened for him and he strolls towards us. I inhale, barely regaining my composure after hiding my shaky hands behind me. All the nerves in me are screaming for me to run. The enemy is here, and for what reason if not to cause destruction. And before I can stop myself, I find myself saying. “Well well, look what the trash truck spit out.” Then, I grab Isabella in panic and start to run towards the entrance of the restaurant. Vincenzo won't hurt a Zhukov in public. He… won't… But I'm not even halfway towards the entrance of the restaurant when a warm hand grabs my shoulder and I try to wiggle free with my grip tightening on Isabella's wrist who's spotting the same reaction as me. “Chill, will you?” It's Claud's voice. I turn to him and he winces, probably seeing the confusion and question mark on my face. “Chill?” I ask, assessing him as if

~ ANASTASIA ~ “Say ‘I do’.” Claud’s voice rings in my ears and I gulp. “Do you, Anastasia Zhukov, accept Damien Vicenzo as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?” “I…” I open my mouth, my eyes landing on the devilishly handsome man clad in a black suit before me. It's hard. I wonder how he said ‘I do’ so effortlessly and I gulped again. I can't subject Isabella to the gruesome fate of wedding him in my stead. “I do.” I say. The crowd erupts into cheers and my eyes dart to Alexander who's staring at me in satisfaction. I grit my teeth, glad that the veil is still covering my face. The ring bearer brings the ring and Damien steps closer to slip the golden ring with a ruby stone into my left ring finger. My hands shake as I take the second ring from the case. I hold my breath, slipping it into his extended finger as the

~ ANASTASIA ~ The warm glow of the floor lamps and the soft hums of the air conditioning welcomes me as I step foot into Damien's penthouse — my apartment if not for his freaking involvement. But my brain wasn't focused on the plush white couches and sofas. Instead, my mind still reels from the kiss. The first kiss at the altar was vicious and fierce. It was as if he was trying to pass a point across to me. Claiming me. Punishing me. Making his stance known. And yes, it made my brain mushy and my pulse run hot. But it's the second kiss that ignites my blood and has my toes curling in my shoe even if I don't want to admit it. It was playful and something I think looks like regret lingers in my heart. I should have have— “Ahhh…” I gasp in surprise when my head suddenly meets a hard coarse surface. I step back, seeing it's Damien who'd suddenly stop. “What the fuck are you thinking?” “I should be asking you that.” He scowls. I hiss, gathering my veil into my hand before rumpling i

~ DAMIEN ~ I have always thrived on control. Seeing people at my mercy, knowing that I have the power to mould them or break them, that I have the pen and eraser to seal their fate. Most call me monster, some devil, some even call me bastard. Well, I'm all. You may be thinking that my experience made me like this. Maybe I'd gone through some shitty moments in life, perhaps from an abusive father or an abusive mother. Newsflash? No, I didn't have any of that. My ruthlessness didn't stem from my childhood, and I wasn't like a diamond that was forged under pressure. Instead, I've always been like this. Thriving on control, brutality, beauty in blood, love for the sound of gunshot, wanting to watch the world burn. Everything. I was born this way. It was like that placenta that followed me to the world but was cooked for me to eat instead of being buried with the demons of the world. It was like my flesh that expanded as I continue to grow and now, it continues to impact those around