LOGINBrooklyn Carson never planned to marry especially not to a cold, calculating billionaire who treats love like a business transaction. But when her brother’s future is on the line, she signs a one-year marriage contract with Dominic Blackwell, the arrogant CEO who sees emotions as liabilities and appearances as currency. The rules are simple: move into his mansion, play the doting wife in public, and don’t ask questions. But nothing about Dominic or this arrangement is simple. Thrown into a world of luxury, secrets, and ruthless expectations, Brooklyn must survive elite family dinners, designer makeovers, and a fabricated love story she’s expected to memorize. Yet as their chemistry turns dangerously real, so does the risk of falling for the man she swore to hate. And just when she starts to play her role a little too well, Dominic’s ex returns with one goal: to burn everything to the ground. Lies. Power. Passion. In a house where nothing is what it seems, love might be the most dangerous game of all.
View MoreBROOKLYNA week changed everything.Not loudly. Not all at once.It changed things in the quiet spaces—in the way the house breathed again, in the way no one flinched when doors opened, in the way silence stopped feeling like a threat.We were back in the city.The real house.Glass and steel and light pouring in through floor-to-ceiling windows like the world had finally decided to be kind again. Security was still there—of course it was—but it felt… relaxed. Like shoulders had lowered an inch. Like everyone believed we were allowed to exist instead of hide.Dominic came home three days after the hospital.He tried to pretend he didn’t need rest.That lasted approximately twelve hours.Now it was a week later, and for the first time since I’d met him, Dominic Blackwell looked—unmistakably—happy.Not controlled.Not composed.Happy.I stood halfway down the staircase, frozen, watching him through the open living room.Adrian was there.Sitting on the couch.Laughing.Actually laughin
BROOKLYN Morning came quietly. Not gently—but quietly, like it didn’t want to scare me awake. I opened my eyes to pale light filtering through unfamiliar curtains and for a split second forgot where I was. Then the weight settled back in—safe house three, the night call, Dominic’s voice in my ear, soon pressed into my chest like a promise that could bruise. I lay there listening. No alarms. No rushing footsteps. Just the low, steady hum of security and the distant clink of dishes somewhere downstairs. Relief crept in slowly, cautious as a stray cat. A knock sounded at my door. Soft. Respectful. I sat up immediately. “Yeah?” The door opened just enough for Mr. Alcott to peer in. “Good morning, Mrs. Blackwell. Gerald has arrived.” My heart skipped. “Is everything okay?” “Yes,” he said. And this time—this time—he smiled. Just a little. “Very much so.” That was all it took. I was out of bed in seconds. ⸻ Elliot was already dressed when I reached his room, sitting cross-l
DOMINICHope was a luxury I couldn’t afford.I’d learned that the hard way—through blood, through silence, through promises made in rooms that never saw daylight. Hope made men hesitate. It made them believe tomorrow was guaranteed.Tomorrow wasn’t.The second the call with Brooklyn ended, the quiet closed in again—cold, sharp, unforgiving. Her voice still echoed faintly in my head, steady but strained, like she was holding herself together for my sake. I stared at my phone for half a second longer than necessary, thumb hovering over the screen as if I could pull her back through it.Soon.I meant it. God help me, I did.But soon only mattered if I survived long enough to keep the promise.I locked the phone and slipped it into my pocket, forcing myself to move. Standing still was dangerous. Thinking was worse.The warehouse sat on the edge of the river, abandoned on paper and very much occupied in reality. Its windows were dark, its doors rusted, the kind of place no one noticed unle
BROOKLYNSleep didn’t come.It hovered just out of reach, teasing me with half-dreams and jolting me awake every time the house creaked or the wind pressed too hard against the windows. I lay there staring at the ceiling until my eyes burned, my mind replaying the same images over and over—Dominic’s hand at my neck, his voice saying for always, the way he’d turned away like staying would cost him something he couldn’t afford to lose.At some point, my throat went dry.The kind of dry that made breathing uncomfortable.I pushed myself up slowly, careful not to make noise even though there was no one to disturb. The digital clock on the bedside table glowed 2:17 a.m.Of course it was.I padded out of the room and down the hall, the house hushed in that deep, suspended way only the middle of the night could manage. Even the security hum felt quieter, like it knew better than to intrude.The kitchen light flicked on softly.I poured myself a glass of water, hands shaking just enough that
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