LOGIN“Get away from me,” Aria said, her voice unsteady. Aston didn’t move away. No, he leaned in, the blade she held against his neck piercing through just enough to draw a thin line of red. He smiled. “Careful, my lady,” he murmured. “Your hands are shaking.” Her grip tightened on the hilt. “Now look at him,” Aston continued softly. “Look at your son… and tell me whose eyes he has.” There was absolute silence. “Your stepbrother’s?” His smile sharpened. “Or the man that claimed you that night?” ~ Five years ago, all Aria wanted was for her stepbrother, Liam, to say “take my hand” and defend her. Instead she woke up in his bed; drugged, disgraced, and left to carry the blame and the label of a ‘whore’. Now she’s back with a child, but to regain her reputation, she has to marry Aston Beaumont, a ghost with a million layers, a murderer, and the man about to betray her grandfather. It should have been simple. Save her grandfather. Restore her reputation. Then leave. That is, until her stepbrother returns, not with guilt or shame, but with obsession, dangerously wanting her back like he never let her go. And the more he pushes, the more dangerous Aston becomes. Because Aston Beaumont doesn’t chase. He takes.
View MoreThe next day, Aria stood in the foyer, the sun from the golden curtains shimmering off her skin, putting her in an even better mood, something she didn’t think was even remotely possible.She played with her signature ring while holding on tightly to her phone, willing her feet to just fucking move.She’d stared at Liam’s post for a week too long, the comments so vivid she could practically hear the voices calling her a whore, an attacker, a scandal.She needed a counter strike.And the one she knew was petty enough to work required her entering the ground.She had slept like a baby the previous night, waking up perfectly rested for the first time in a decade. Why? Because she had gotten severely kissed by the man she was supposed to hate, Aston Beaumont.And that kind of luck out, she got to see him and her baby together, Asher fitting into the crook of Aston’s arm like he was meant to be there. Aria pinched her eyes again.She looked calm on the outside but her heart was doing back
“You’ll let me call you daddy again”“I didn’t say you weren’t allowed to before though”, Aston cocked his head to the side. It seemed like that wasn’t a satisfactory answer. The boy stood still, resolutely looking at him.Aston liked the kid.He was a smart little shit.He was also from Aria. He liked everything from Aria.“You can call me daddy again.”The boy nodded like a soldier and raised his hands, signaling for Aston to carry him.Now that Aston thought about it, he hadn’t ever lifted the boy. He hooked his hands under Asher’s arms and carried him first to his chest.He smelled soft and pure. Like a freshly bathed child should. He could smell hints of whatever floral thing he always smelled on Aria around the middle of Asher’s head and he gave in to temptation and sniffed.“Ugh. You’re also weird like mommy,” Asher said, leaning his sleepy head on Aston’s chest.Aston subconsciously held on to his little head, moving to sit on the seat he couldn’t reach, with Asher in his lap
The cold water was supposed to have reset his brain. He had exorcised the feeling out of his body with his own hands. But seeing the curve of her bare thighs and the way the light caught the damp ends of her hair made his throat go bone-dry.He'd spent years training his body to endure torture, but apparently, he'd never trained it for Aria Griffin in loungewear."You should be in something warmer," he said, his voice a gruff raspy thing that had him awkwardly clearing his throat right after.Aria nearly jumped out of her skin. She spun around, a wooden spoon held like a weapon. "God, Aston! Do you have to teleport everywhere?""You just came out of freezing water," he said, stepping into the kitchen and heading for the liquor cabinet with a stiff, detached gait. He didn't look at her. If he looked at her legs again, he was going to lose his mind. He felt like he was walking with the same arm and leg forward. He felt exposed. "If you catch pneumonia and die, I have to explain to Arth
The water Aston had been sprayed with was a physical assault, in recompense for his assault on Aria, but it wasn’t enough.Aston didn’t feel punished enough.He stood under the spray of his shower, his forehead pressed against the cold tiles, his body shivering. He didn’t use hot water.He didn’t deserve it.His skin was still humming, a low simmering vibration in his groin and his teeth.He was dousing himself in water as cold as he wished his heart was, but the rounds his blood was doing under his skin kept him sufficiently warm.Every time he blinked all he could see was her, her blown out eyes, her swollen lips, his marks on her body. His marks. He had done that.His unworthy hands had touched and squeezed and prodded and his lizard brain wanted more, so much more.Aston Beaumont was a man of restraint. For as long as he could remember, he had always been unflappable in his restraint.Not with Aria.Damnit.Not with Aria.The poison hadn’t made him want her, it had only stripped
Aria felt an unreasonable need to be vulnerable. The night had been a full roller coaster of emotions and it all started with the evil bullheaded man beside her. “Anyone would run if they were in my place. You’re not exactly the best husband in the world”, she hid the need behind snark. Venting t
Aria startled at the sudden white flash and immediately swiveled her head to look in the direction it came from. That was a bad idea. There were four men with cameras and flashing lights, running over from the other side of the street. Hartie must have called them in, possibly to have them as
“You must be my wife’s lovely family,” the voice rolled out like steel coated in velvet. Aria’s every nerve was completely keyed to Aston’s hand on her shoulder. The warmth radiated directly as though there weren’t multiple layers of clothes on her, like she’d been branded. She turned her head up
Aria’s lips pressed into a thin line. The sharp sting of her mother’s words could have been paralyzing, if she let it. But she refused. She had spent years clawing herself out of ruin, out of the reputations others tried to suffocate her with. She would not let Camille’s venom touch her tonight.Ha












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