LOGINZara Queen lives her life in bold colors. She dances for a living—literally—as one of the top performers at Club Mirage. Fierce, flirty, and unapologetically herself, she’s used to being wanted… but never truly seen. When her apartment floods, she ends up crashing with Liam Carter, a grumpy, emotionally closed-off single dad who thinks Zara is the human equivalent of chaos. He wants silence. She lives out loud. "You don’t belong in my world, Zara." “Then why do you keep looking at me like I’m the only thing keeping you alive?" Their roommate agreement had one rule: no touching. But rules were made to be broken, especially when sparks start flying and hearts start healing. "You strip for strangers, but the way you look at me... it’s like I’m the only one who’s ever seen you." As the lines blur between comfort and desire, Liam and Zara must ask themselves: can love grow in the space between damage and desire?
View MoreThe morning passes in a blur after Emily’s small voice shattered the fight. I’d plastered on a smile, crouched down, and reassured her everything was fine. Liam mumbled something about “grown-up disagreements,” and she seemed satisfied enough to scamper off with her rabbit.But me? I wasn’t fine. Not even close.His words echo in my head like a bad song: You deserve better than that stage.It should’ve made me furious. It did. But buried inside the anger was something else—something dangerous. Because if I peeled away the judgment, the arrogance, the presumption… there was care. Care I wasn’t sure I wanted from him.I spend most of the day in my room, fiddling with makeup brushes, reorganizing my jewelry, even re-glittering a pair of heels that lost some shine. Anything to avoid running into him. But the universe loves irony, and apparently so does fate,
Morning sunlight creeps across the ceiling when I open my eyes. My head feels heavy, but not because of work—because of Liam. Or more specifically, because of the way Liam looked at me last night.Like he didn’t want to look. Like he couldn’t stop.That flicker in his eyes has been replaying in my brain like a song stuck on repeat, and I hate it. Because the last thing I need is to wonder what my grumpy, judgmental, emotionally constipated roommate thinks of me.Dragging myself out of bed, I tie my hair into a messy bun and pull on a loose T-shirt with shorts. I don’t exactly feel like strutting around in rhinestones when Liam Carter already caught me looking like a walking disco ball.When I walk downstairs, he’s in the kitchen. Of course. Standing there like some kind of domestic ad, pouring black coffee into a mug, all tall and broad in a navy shirt that clings way too well to his sho
By the time my shift ends at Club Mirage, it’s close to two in the morning, and my feet are screaming at me in languages I didn’t even know they spoke. High heels are glamorous until you’ve been wearing them for six hours, spinning, twirling, strutting, smiling at strangers while pretending you don’t feel the dull ache of loneliness at the pit of your stomach.But the music, the lights, the way the crowd cheers—it always covers it up, at least until the show is over.I swipe off the glittery lip gloss in the dressing room, but I’m still in my stage outfit when I leave. My regular clothes are stuffed in my duffel bag, but honestly, I didn’t have the energy to change. Sequined shorts and a cropped top with rhinestones across the neckline aren’t exactly subtle, but they’re also not the worst thing I’ve ever walked home in.The Uber drops me off in front of Liam’s ho
I’m not saying my cooking style is messy… but if the Food Network ever needed a show called “Cooking in Controlled Chaos,” I’d be their girl.The kitchen smells amazing—garlic sizzling in butter, onions softening, pasta boiling away—and also looks like a rainbow exploded in it. Cutting boards with half-chopped vegetables, a smear of tomato sauce on the counter, an open bag of shredded cheese leaning against a box of crackers that I may or may not have been snacking on mid-recipe.Emily sits at the counter, swinging her legs and grinning like this is the most fun she’s had all week. “Can I stir again?”“Absolutely,” I say, handing her the spoon. “You’re the official sauce queen.”She dips it into the pan, stirring carefully while I grab a handful of fresh basil and start tearing it over the pot. Leaves scatter across the stovetop, some fluttering to the floor. Oops.That’s when Liam walks in.He stops dead in the doorway, eyes scanning the ro
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