Mag-log inI married a stranger to save my future. I didn’t know he’d already claimed my body, my secrets… and my past. Nova Camille Lawson signs a one-year marriage contract with a man she’s never met—cold, binding, and laced with desperation. It’s supposed to be business. No intimacy. No questions. Damian Drăghici doesn’t follow rules. He writes them. Tall, ruthless, and obscenely wealthy, Damian is a man of control and obsession. He knows Nova’s every curve, every sigh, every soft moan she’s ever made alone in her room… because he’s been watching her for years. Now, she’s in his mansion. His bed. His world. And the lines between protection and possession blur fast. As desire turns dangerous, Nova realizes she may not be surviving this marriage. She may be surrendering to it.
view moreThe fire snapped and hissed in the stone hearth, casting long shadows across the rough-hewn table. A weathered map lay pinned open beneath a dagger and a smooth river stone, both anchoring opposite corners like war relics. Scrawled ink marked supply routes, dead drops, and old estates turned strongholds. Blood red for Lazăr's confirmed safehouses. Gray for allies they weren't sure about. Blue for the Drăghici loyal to the old ways. Damian leaned over the table shirtless, bandages still wrapped around his side, a glass of plum brandy untouched by his elbow. Beside him, Lieras hunched forward, arms braced, lips tight. Tarian sat back with one boot kicked up on the bench edge, flipping a throwing knife between his fingers with restless precision. Nova sat curled in the oversized armchair just off-center, wrapped in a sweater that hung off one bruised shoulder. Her legs tucked beneath her, eyes sharp despite the wear on her body. A mug of broth steamed between her palms. They ta
Nova surfaced from darkness slowly, like rising through deep water. Warmth surrounded her, soft wool blankets, the low hiss of a fire. The air smelled like pine resin, smoke, and the faint tang of old stone. Her body ached in too many places to count. Every breath tugged at her ribs. Her lip throbbed. Her wrists felt raw but clean. The ceiling above her was timbered, curved in a vaulted arch. Not a hotel. Not a cell. Somewhere else entirely. Safe. A gentle hand brushed her forehead. Nova turned her head, wincing, and found a woman seated beside the bed. She was older, with hair twisted into a long gray braid and a face lined by weather and worry. Dressed all in black, she smelled of lavender and smoke. The woman didn't speak, only dipped a cloth in a basin and dabbed it against Nova's temple. Her touch was tender. Skilled. Nova's voice cracked out, no louder than a breath. "Damian?" The woman didn't answer. But she nodded toward the heavy curtains near the hearth. Nova's l
The night air was razor-thin, the forest around the compound blanketed in a skin of frost. Damian crouched behind a felled log, a black blade slick in his palm. Beside him, Tarian gave a silent nod. Lieras flanked right. His oldest friends were blood brothers. Sons of the men who once served his father as right-hand and left-hand men. They had trained together in these woods. Bled on this soil. And now they returned to complete what their fathers had begun. Tarian, taller and broader than the rest, kept his rifle low but his eyes sharp. Lieras, leaner with twitchy fingers and a scar curling under his jaw, PSS pistol on him. They moved like shadows, no wasted steps, no words. Only breath, steel, and purpose. The first guard didn’t even get a scream out. Tarian’s knife slid beneath his chin, twisted once. Blood steamed as it hit the snow. A second guard rounded the path with a cigarette in hand. Lieras fired once, throat shot, clean, silent. They dragged the bodies out of sight.
The jet sliced through a sky bruised with dawn. No words passed as Damian stepped aboard, just curt nods exchanged between men who already knew. The Drăghici heir had returned to Romania, and blood would follow. The interior of the plane was opulence forged in shadow: dark mahogany panels carved with the wolf crest, embossed leather seats stitched in burgundy thread, and gold accents dulled with age and legacy. Beneath one seat rested a locked weapons case; he didn't need the key. He broke the latch open with his boot and dragged it into the aisle. Damian pulled out a combat blade wrapped in an oilcloth, unsheathed it with care, and then pricked the edge into his palm until blood welled up. No hiss. No wince. Just an old rite: Drăghici steel drank from its master before it hunted. The red smeared along the spine of the blade like war paint as he whispered something low and guttural in Romanian, an oath of vengeance passed down from his grandfather's grandfather. One of thre












Welcome to GoodNovel world of fiction. If you like this novel, or you are an idealist hoping to explore a perfect world, and also want to become an original novel author online to increase income, you can join our family to read or create various types of books, such as romance novel, epic reading, werewolf novel, fantasy novel, history novel and so on. If you are a reader, high quality novels can be selected here. If you are an author, you can obtain more inspiration from others to create more brilliant works, what's more, your works on our platform will catch more attention and win more admiration from readers.