Caelen Valentine has it all—money, charm, and zero consequences. Until one reckless night lands him in the worst possible mess: he’s gotten Aria Throne pregnant. Her brother, Lucian, is the city’s most feared mafia boss. And he doesn’t forgive. But when Lucian takes Caelen hostage, their hatred sparks something neither expects—an obsession neither can control. Now it’s more than revenge. More than pride. It’s a game of desire, danger, and a love that could ruin them both. In a world of power and betrayal, will they choose each other—or destroy everything?
View MoreCAELEN VALENTINE’S POV
Pain...
That’s all I feel.
A dull, soul-splitting kind of pain, dragging nausea up through my throat and crashing into my skull. The air is ice. It lashes my bare skin, each sting like a cold blade carving into me. And then— A blinding light. Focused. Hot. Cruel.I try to open my eyes. But all I see is darkness. Thick. Heavy. Infinite.
After what feels like forever, my vision sharpens—just enough to realize the horror.
I’m naked, strung upside down by thick jute rope, the fibers digging through my skin like thorns.
My body is a battlefield—bruised, scratched, covered in red and purplish welts. Like I fought a bear and lost. Badly.I squint into the blackness, trying to cut through it with my gaze.
And I feel him before I see him.Someone’s there. Watching me. Silent. Still.
But the weight of his gaze? It sends a cold crawl down my spine.“W-Who’s there?” I stammer, my voice shaking in the stillness.
Nothing.
“Who’s there?!” I ask again, stronger. But no response.
Then—
A flicker of flame. A cigar is lit.For a second, I catch a glimpse of the figure’s jaw—cut sharp like it was sculpted from stone. His lips curl into a dark smirk as the fire glows in the shadows.
He starts to walk toward me, smoke swirling around him. Cigar in his mouth. One hand in his pocket.As he steps into the light, I see his face fully.
And gods, I wish I hadn’t.Lucien Thorne.
To the surface world, he’s the celebrated heir to Thorne Industries, known for revolutionizing textiles and tech.
But to those who matter? He’s the true Godfather of the underground—ruthless, untouchable, and utterly emotionless.Rumor has it he never blinks. Never hesitates.
Even his own men call him “the Machine.”He stands at 6'5, massive, broad—like a god sculpted in iron and tailored in Armani.
Not that I’m short, but next to him? I feel like prey.I’ve heard women talk about him like he’s a walking fantasy.
And I get it now.Jet black eyes, devil-crafted bone structure, and a smile that makes you feel like sin.Even in agony, my heart does something stupid.
It skips.But behind all that beauty?
A monster. The kind you only read about in legends or see in nightmares. A man who’d kill you for breathing wrong.They don’t call him the Devil’s Heir for nothing.
As my brain scrambles for logic, he moves even closer—his face now inches from mine.
Just one shift and we’d recreate that infamous Spider-Man kiss.Except I’m not a superhero.
I’m a man about to be torn apart.And then—suddenly—I crash to the floor.
Mouth full of dirt and blood.Rope sliced.He must’ve cut me loose.
I writhe in agony.
Before I can move, he grabs a fistful of my hair, yanks me upright, drags me onto my knees.
The way he manhandled me, I am sure this man is into bdsm.
Brutal. Harsh. But Savagely handsome.
These words define him the best.
I scream.
Because I swear I felt every nerve tear.This man doesn’t hit.
He devours.“How dare you lay your filthy hands on my sister?”
His tone is nonchalant. Like he’s asking the time.Sister? What sister?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I manage, voice trembling.
He just hums, takes another long puff of his cigar.
“You don’t know what I’m talking about?”
His smirk grows.“You will. Very soon.”I’m doomed.
Whatever I’ve done—I'm about to pay for it.From behind him, a shadow moves.
One of his men—I assume—grabs me by the neck and drags me toward a steel tank filled to the brim.Water.
No.
No, no, no.Before I can struggle, my head is shoved down.
Submerged.I flail—panicking, choking.
My lungs scream for air.“Enough.”
Lucien’s voice slices through the chamber.The man lets go instantly.
I collapse, coughing, gasping, trembling on the floor.
Lucien crouches down beside me.
Too close again. His eyes burn like black fire.“Now you remember my sister?”
The words are razor-sharp.I nod.
Barely.Because yes—now I remember her.
FLASHBACK
Two months ago.
A club.It was called Dark Vibe—fitting name for a place dripping in smoke, neon, and sin.
The music was loud. The people wilder.Everyone was high on something—lust, alcohol, maybe both.
I sat in the corner, drowning in whiskey, freshly dumped by my ex.
She left me for my so-called best friend, Rayan.
The bastard.Maybe it was always in the cards.
Maybe she had eyes for him all along.I didn’t care.
I just wanted to forget.And then—I saw her.
A gorgeous girl, early twenties, wearing a black dress so short it didn’t bother pretending.
Cleavage on display, hips that didn’t lie, and a quiet storm behind her eyes.She sat beside me.
Ordered a whiskey on the rocks.Power move. I liked it.
Even through my haze, I noticed her light honey eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Hey, beautiful,” I said, flashing my best charming grin.
“Can I buy you a drink?”She turned her head. Calm. Controlled.
“No, thanks. I’m good. Just enjoying the music.”
Playing hard to get?
“Mind if I enjoy it with you? Maybe we could dance?” I pressed.
“I don’t know… I’m not really a dancer.” She hesitated.
“Then may I have the honor of teaching you, my lady?”
She chuckled.I was in.
We danced. We laughed.
Drinks flowed. Touches lingered. Heat rose.Eventually—we tumbled into bed.
It was intense.
Raw. Wild. No limits.No names.
No regrets.But when I woke up—
She was gone.
No number.
No goodbye. Just sheets that smelled like her.And now?
I’m here.Bruised. Beaten. Broken.And I finally know who she was.
Aria Thorne.
Lucien Thorne’s sister.
And I?
I’m the idiot who touched what was forbidden.CAISEN VALENTINE'S POVThe Venta Black Order Warehouse—Sector 9, New YorkThey say when a devil gets angry, the sky rips open. But when I get angry?The ground fucking shatters.I've tasted rage before—quiet, elegant, even seductive. The kind that lets you watch your enemies rot from the inside while you sip whiskey and smile.But this? This wasn't rage. This was annihilation on legs.I slammed open the warehouse doors, my men stepping back without needing to be told. They saw it in my eyes. They felt it in the air—thick like gunpowder, electric like a storm that's about to level the earth.Nobody spoke. Nobody breathed.Not unless they wanted to die tonight.The man I'd had kidnapped—Sam Matthew—sat bound to the metal chair like a stuffed pig waiting for the slaughter. His mouth was bloodied. One eye swollen shut. I hadn't touched him yet. This was my men's warm-up act.Now it was my turn.I stalked toward him, black coat trailing like shadow behind me, boots echoing like gunshots
CONRAD WILLIAM'S POVHe was too quiet.I didn't notice when he entered the office, but I felt the shift in the air the moment he stopped behind me. The silence stretched, thick and strange—until he spoke, voice coated with disbelief and something far more dangerous."What the fuck is this?" His tone didn't have anger, but something menaces like he has been pissed at something.I turned slowly, my blood running cold the second I saw what he held in his hand.The photo.That cursed photograph. The one where Lucian had his arm draped around my shoulder, both of us smiling like we didn't belong to a world soaked in blood and lies. I meant to hide it. Meant to burn it. But I couldn't let it go. It was stupid. Sentimental."Is this what you stare at when you think no one's watching?" he snarled, stepping closer. "You got a little schoolboy crush on Lucian now?"I didn't answer. My jaw tightened. My hands twitched at my sides.But he saw everything.He always did.Caisen's eyes darkened. Fur
CONRAD WILLIAM'S POVLucian left the room, leaving me— his disappointment in the dark.The first thing I noticed wasn't the guilt. It was the sting. A fresh one—low on my wrist, diagonal, red. Lying upon the already dark marks upon my wrist begging me to stop this torture maybe they are also tired of me living my life like this.like I have any choice.I'd done it in the bathroom, sometime between 1 a.m. and 2, when I came back from the failed mission. I think. Not deep. Not like that. I'm not suicidal. Not anymore.This isn't about dying. I don't want to die anymore but this is.This is about punishment.For slipping.For failing. For letting Edward vanish into the smoke.For letting him—Caisen—get too close.For getting on my knees... not for the mission, but for him.I press a hand over the cut, watching it stings under the gauze. The pain is dull now, muted under the bandage, but the shame is fresh—like acid in my bloodstream. This is how I atone. Not in prayer. Not in penance. B
CONRAD WILLIAM'S POVThe hallway was dim, lit only by red neon bleeding through the frosted glass. My boots echoed down the corridor as I headed toward the VIP room—the one I had carefully mapped out, watched from a distance, waited two damn years to breach.It should've been routine.But nothing about this night had gone according to plan.I pushed open the heavy velvet curtain, stepped in—And stopped.Empty.No laughter. No guards. No scotch glasses clinking over hushed bribes. No scent of cigars or sweat-soaked threats.Just emptiness. The monster was gone.Edward Miller.He had been here. I know he had.And now he was gone.Slipped through my fingers like smoke while I was busy on my knees... for someone else.My fists clenched at my sides.The mic was still in my pocket—untouched. The plan, shattered. The evidence? Lost to the dark.And Lucian?What the hell was I going to tell him?That I failed? That Edward vanished while I was too busy keeping Caisen from blowing the entire
CONRAD WILLIAM'S POV"If you are going to show me this attitude, then do it while you choke upon my dick."He grabbed me by collar, make me stand on my knees and face his half-erected bulge.while he took out a cigarette to blow & light it up."You better have some skills, to justify this slutty attitude of yours or else you know me."When I say Caisen Valentine isn't someone you cross—I mean it. This man will erase you so clean, the world won't even remember you existed.He's patient, sure. Smiles like nothing touches him. But the second that patience snaps?God help you.I've seen him ruin people. Break bones, crush throats, end lives—without flinching. All because he wanted something.And Caisen always gets what he wants.I brushed my face against his pants; my teeth took the zipper of his pants down. Meanwhile my eyes stayed on him making an eye contact looking at him in seduction.I took out his cock from his pants, with a piercing on the crown and definitely too big for me.I've
CONRAD WILLIAM'S POVThe lights were too bright. The music too loud. My breathing? Too uneven.I stood in the middle of the club wearing the most outrageous outfit I could find—black mesh shirt, glitter around my eyes, leather pants that screamed "notice me" even though I'd kill to disappear.I bought it all from the mall two hours before walking in here. Not my style. Not my comfort.But I needed a new skin tonight. Something loud enough to distract from the tremble beneath.Because I knew who I was here for.Him.The monster who made me what I am. Who branded my shame like a scar that never faded. And who, according to intel, would show up any minute.I didn't tell anyone how much my hands were shaking. Not Lucian. Not Ilya. I insisted on coming alone. I was stubborn about that. I said it was my mission, my revenge.But truth?I didn't want anyone else to see me like this. Weak. Fractured. Teetering on the edge of becoming that boy again.Sixteen.Helpless.Naked in someone else's v
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