MARRIED TO MY GIGOLO.

“Baby! Liam!! I’m home!”My voice echoed through the hallway, bouncing off the walls of our small apartment. Normally, he would come running — his face lighting up, his arms wrapping me in a warm embrace. But today, there was only silence.A strange feeling crept up my spine. Something felt off. I kicked off my shoes, the sound of my heels against the tiled floor the only reply I got.“Liam?” I called again, softer this time.Still nothing.The living room was empty. The television was off. His phone was lying face down on the couch. That was strange — he never went anywhere without it.A whisper of suspicion began to form in my mind, one I tried to push away. No, not Liam. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.I made my way upstairs, my heartbeat quickening with each step.And then I stopped.The door to our bedroom was half open. The soft rustle of sheets met my ears. I pushed the door slowly, praying — begging silently — that I was wrong.But there he was.Liam. My Liam.Asleep. In our bed. Wi

**My Wild escapade**. “ Who are you”? he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated deep within me. It was rough, commanding, yet tinged with a vulnerability that made my knees weak. I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and took a step closer. The floor felt distant beneath my feet, as if i were floating toward him. “I should be asking you that question,” he added, his lips curling into a smirk that was both playful and predatory.My breath caught in my throat, and i felt a whimper escape my lips before i could stop it. This was wrong—so wrong—but the pull between them was undeniable. I reached out, my fingers trembling as they brushed against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath my touch. “I—” , my voice cracking, but before I could finish, I deliberately pulled him into a kiss.It was hungry, desperate, like two starving souls finally finding sustenance. His lips were firm yet yielding, his taste intoxicating. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing myself ag

****My car rolled to a slow stop in front of the towering glass building, and for a full minute, I couldn’t move. I just sat there, staring through the window, my breath fogging up the glass.“The Lancel Group”.I’d seen photos of the company headquarters online — the shining symbol of power, wealth, and success — but pictures did it no justice. The real thing was breathtaking. The entire structure rose like a monument of glass and steel, its mirrored windows reflecting the morning sun so brilliantly it almost hurt to look at. The gold-engraved company logo glimmered proudly above the revolving doors, bold and elegant:“LANCEL GROUP INTERNATIONAL”.My hands trembled slightly as I reached for my bag. “Here goes nothing,” I whispered to myself.The morning breeze caught my hair, carrying the faint scent of fresh coffee and city air. Businessmen and women hurried past me in crisp suits, their heels clicking sharply on the marble pavement. Everything here screamed importance — and for the

LANCE POV.The moment I stepped into the private dining room of the Lancel estate, I felt the weight of the air pressing down on me. My parents were already seated — Mr. and Mrs. Lancel, immaculately dressed, their expressions a careful blend of expectation and subtle impatience. The chandelier above cast a harsh glow, highlighting the lines of concern on my mother’s face.“Lance,” my father began, voice calm but firm, “we need to have a serious conversation. Sit down.”I hesitated, then slid into the chair across from them. I knew this was coming. My mother’s hands were folded neatly on the table, and I could see the faint tension in her jaw.“Your father and I have been discussing this for months,” she said, her tone steady but sharp. “You are thirty years old. A brilliant, capable man. And yet…” Her voice trailed, and I already knew what was coming.“Yet what?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral, calm, but my chest was tightening.“You are not married,” my father said, leanin

Lost Love ***For the past few days, Lance had been absent from the office, and I hadn’t seen him even once. Not that I would admit it out loud, but I missed him terribly. Every morning felt incomplete without the echo of his presence, without the subtle way he passed by, brushing past me, making the air around us electric without even trying.I tried to focus on my work, on the endless spreadsheets, meetings, and files stacked neatly on my desk, but no matter how hard I tried, my thoughts always drifted to him.And I didn’t just miss him. I craved him.***I fantasized about him — about the way he looked when he was serious, commanding in his tailored suits, every inch of him radiating power and control. But my fantasies weren’t about business. No, they were far more intimate.I wanted him to hold me. To pull me close and let me feel the warmth of his chest against mine. I wanted him to touch me, his hands strong and confident, exploring, claiming, igniting fires I hadn’t even known e