LOGINI sold myself to a masked stranger for one night. My brother is dying. The medical bills are drowning me. So I walked into a private auction wearing black lace and a mask, and I let a stranger buy me. He was cold. Commanding. Twice my age. He called me princess and made me beg for things I had never dared to whisper out loud. For one night, I was not the broke, exhausted twin sitting at a hospital bedside. I was his. Every moan. Every tear. Every orgasm. He gave me the first pleasure of my life and then sent me home with fifty thousand dollars and a bruise on my throat that I could not stop touching. I told myself I would never see him again. Then I walked into my new job. He was standing in the corner office. No mask this time. Just a sharp suit, cold eyes, and a smirk that said he had known exactly who I was all along. Ezra Dane. My brother's former best friend. The man who destroyed my family. He owns the company I just got hired at. He signs my paycheck. He holds the door to his office open every morning and waits for me to walk through it. And last night, he sent me a message. My penthouse. 9 p.m. Wear the collar. I should report him. I should quit. I should run as far from this forty two year old nightmare as humanly possible. But when he looks at me with those dark eyes and says good girl, my legs spread before my brain catches up. He wants to own me. And I am terrified that I want to be owned.
View MoreThe news of Marcus Webb's innocence spread quickly. Vienna had not intended for it to become public. She had wanted to keep the truth private, to process it with her family, to grieve and heal in her own time. But the prison had leaked the story to a journalist. And the journalist had run with it. Within days, the headlines were everywhere. The Man Who Didn't Kill Marcus Cross The Board's Failed Murder Plot A Killer's Confession: I Lied to Save Him Vienna read the articles and felt sick. The world was feasting on her family's pain. They were turning her father's death into a spectacle. They were turning Marcus Webb into a hero. But he was not a hero. He was a complicated man who had made a terrible choice in an impossible situation. He had lied. He had let them believe he was a murderer. He had carried the guilt of a crime he did not commit. He was not a hero. He was a human being. --- The phone calls started the next day. Vienna's office phone rang constantly. Her cell pho
The letter arrived on a Tuesday morning. Vienna was in her office at the center, reviewing grant applications, when the receptionist knocked on her door. She was holding a white envelope in her hand. "This came for you," she said. "It was hand delivered." Vienna took the envelope. Her name was written on the front in careful, elegant script. There was no return address. No stamp. Just her name. "Who delivered it?" she asked. "A young man. He said it was from his grandfather. He said his grandfather was in prison and could not send it himself." Vienna's blood ran cold. She opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. The handwriting was shaky. The words were simple. Dear Vienna, I know you do not want to hear from me. I know you have every reason to hate me. But I need to tell you something. Something I should have told you years ago. I did not kill your father. I was there. I was in the room. I saw him die. But I did not kill him. The board told me to. They pa
The weeks after Marcus Webb's trial were strange. Vienna had expected to feel relief. She had expected the truth to set her free. She had expected closure to bring peace. But instead, she felt hollow. Empty. Like a wound that had been reopened and was now bleeding again. She went through the motions. She woke up each morning. She made coffee. She went to the center. She came home. She ate dinner. She went to bed. But she was not really there. Part of her was still in that cabin. Still hearing Marcus Webb's confession. Still seeing the face of the man who had killed her father. She could not stop thinking about it. The injection. The board's plan. The years of silence. The guilt her mother had carried. The guilt she now carried herself. She tried to push it down. She threw herself into her work. She spent long hours at the center. She answered emails until her eyes blurred. She planned events and wrote speeches and shook hands with donors. But the grief would not be ignored. ---
The book was a success. It sold thousands of copies in the first week. It was featured in newspapers and magazines. It was discussed on television and radio. Vienna's mother became a voice for families who had been silenced by the system. She spoke at conferences. She gave interviews. She told her story again and again. But something was still bothering her. Vienna noticed it immediately. Her mother was quieter than usual. She was distracted. She spent hours staring at the wall, her eyes vacant, her hands trembling. She jumped at sudden noises. She cried for no reason. Vienna found her on the balcony one evening, staring out at the river. "Mom," she said softly. "What is wrong?" Her mother did not turn around. "I have something else to tell you." Vienna's heart clenched. "What?" Her mother was silent for a long moment. Then she said, "I have been keeping a secret. A secret I should have told you years ago." Vienna crossed the balcony and stood beside her. "What secret?" Her
Vienna dried off slowly, stretching each movement to delay the inevitable. As long as she stayed in this bathroom, wrapped in a thick white towel that smelled expensive, she did not have to walk out into the real world. She did not have to accept that the night was over.But the water had run cold
Ezra fucked her like he was trying to break her.Each thrust was deep and deliberate, pushing into her with a rhythm that stole her breath. Vienna's legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back, pulling him closer even as she cried out from the force of him. The collar press
The floor was cold beneath Vienna's knees.She knelt in the center of the room, naked now except for the collar. The black lace was gone, tossed somewhere onto the floor. The silk ropes were coiled beside her on the bed, waiting. Ezra stood in front of her, still fully dressed, his charcoal mask hi
The leather was cool against Vienna's throat.Ezra stood over her, his masked face unreadable, his fingers working the buckle at the back of the collar. The strap sat snug against her skin, not tight enough to choke, just tight enough to remind her it was there. A small silver ring dangled at the f












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