Wolfe’s POV Fuck. Aria had caught us. I and Jules. The moment Aria walked away, something inside me twisted—tight, relentless. My body screamed to move, to chase after her, to drag her back before she disappeared completely. Call her. Go. Now. But my feet refused to unroot from the damn floor. It was pathetic. My pulse hammered, my jaw locked, yet I stood there like some useless statue, watching her leave. “Sebastian, we’d explain things to Aria later..”Jules’ voice was a purr, sticky with need. “My pussy is still wet, craving you..all of you..” she continued. Her legs were splayed wide, her arousal glistening, dripping slow and shameless down her thighs. The sight of it—the scent—should’ve had me on my knees, fucking my tongue into her until she screamed. Fuck. I wanted to. My mouth watered, my cock throbbed , every primal instinct in me snarling to take what she was offering. But all I could see was *her* Aria. I had fucked everything up. “Come, m
Aria's POV: The mirror didn’t lie. But I couldn’t get myself to believe what I was seeing. “Wow, I look stunning”I whispered, a smile creeping onto my lips. My heart raced as I tried on the clothes Ivy picked for me. According to the dress code, the black crop top fit my body perfectly, clinging to my ample breasts. The mini skirt I wore hugged my curves, stopping above my thighs; it fit perfectly against my firm backside. I couldn't help but admire myself and how the miniskirt showcased my shape. "Wow, you look amazing, Aria," Ivy said as she burst into the room, fully dressed, her energy lighting up the space. Her silhouette was both delicate and strong, the crop top highlighting the curve of her back and shoulders. The way the fabric clung to her chest emphasized her body but also her power. She moved with a fluid grace, the crop top a testament to her confidence. The shape of her breasts were rounded but not as busty as mine. "Do I really nee
Aria’s POV The world tilted. My lungs refused to work. I stood frozen in the doorway, my fingers digging into the frame as if it could anchor me to reality. Jules—my best friend—was tangled in the sheets with him. With Wolfe. The man who’d wrecked me. The man she’d spent weeks warning me about. Their gasps still hung in the air. The scent of sweat and guilt clung to the room. Jules jerked upright, her eyes wide with horror, her lips swollen from his kisses. Wolfe turned toward me, his expression shifting from pleasure to something unreadable. "Jules," I choked out. My voice sounded foreign, raw. She flinched. "Aria, I—" "Don’t." The word sliced through her excuses. My pulse roared in my ears. "You don’t get to explain this." Wolfe stood, the blanket slipping away, but I refused to look. Refused to let myself remember how his skin had felt under my hands just days ago. "Aria, let me—" "*Save it*." My laugh was brittle. "You vanished after ruining m
Aria’s POV: For two whole days, I didn’t see him. Not in the halls. Not in the office. Not even on campus. It was like Wolfe had vanished. And maybe that had been the point. After the contract. After the sex. After Sloan Maddox and the closet and the cold truth hanging between us like a loaded gun—maybe we both needed a break. So I did the one thing I had been avoiding since Bellmere began. I went home. ******* The Lancaster townhouse sat like a fortress on the Upper East Side, white stone and steel gates and the kind of polished silence that screamed money. My sister Ivy met me at the door. Perfect as ever. Hair curled. Lip gloss on. Her phone glued to her hand. “You’re alive,” she said, barely looking up. “Surprised?” I asked, stepping inside. “Considering Dad almost pulled you out of Bellmere last week? Yeah.” I blinked. “What?” Ivy finally looked at me. “You really didn’t check your email, did you?” Apparently, while I had been learning how to kneel
Aria’s POV: I didn’t go back to my dorm that night. I didn’t even remember how I got home. Wolfe carried me, I think. Wrapped me in one of his expensive trench coats, whispered something low against my hair, and slid me into the backseat of a car I didn’t remember calling. I still needed more. More of his touch, more of his body, the way he was looking at me. I still needed it. This man knew how to torture a woman—like, seriously. The whole ride, I sat in silence with his jacket smelling like him—leather, spice, power. I held onto his jacket, dying in my fantasies for his touch. “Oh my god,” I moaned slowly, as I touched my pussy, playing around my clitoris, my voice barely above a whisper. I couldn’t let the driver hear me. My thighs were still shaking from the force of what he’d done to me. My voice long gone from how hard I’d screamed his name. But the thing that haunted me most wasn’t the orgasm. It was the way he’d looked at me afterward. Not like a Dea
Aria’s POV: I was late. Not fashionably. Not dramatically. Just enough that my heart was pounding when I knocked. Wolfe didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. That would’ve been too easy. I tried the handle. Unlocked. Inside, his office was empty—except for the envelope waiting on his desk with my name written in black calligraphy. Another envelope. Another game. I didn’t hesitate. Not this time. I opened it with trembling fingers. Go to Room 207. Now. Do not knock. Do not speak. Obey. That was it. One line. No signature. I knew where Room 207 was, my body already moved before my brain could argue. My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears as I climbed the marble steps of the east building. Room 207 was tucked at the end of a silent hallway. The door looked ordinary, wooden and dark. I stared at it for a moment before I twisted the knob. It was dim inside. Curtains drawn. One long table at the center. No chairs. And him—standing at the head of it, hands clasped behi