The penthouse was too quiet.Elena took her position in the darkness of the living room, her breathing controlled, her hands still trembling with the fight at Graves Enterprises. The tension lingered with her, weighted with the recollection of Killian's stern gaze and the ring to his voice when he told her to get out.She had struggled to come back to him, broken her own heart to do so close to the truth—and now it was all falling apart all over again. The man she once assumed ruined her now worked as her protector. And just when she started to assume he could rescue her too. he pushed her away more brutally than ever before.Her phone rang, but she couldn't force herself to look at it. Nathan or Rachel, most likely. Most likely questions, pressure, and further reminders the game she was playing was getting way, way out of her control.The door behind her burst open, and for a moment her heart refused the truth and wished it could be him.It wasn't."Raven," Rachel's voice was soft bu
Elena hadn't meant to pass into Killian's private sanctum, but the golden radiance that curled about the threshold and the disturbing stillness beyond the doorway drew her in irresistibly, a moth to a flame. She'd told herself she was just keeping up with him—that she was ahead. But when the creaking, protesting door slid open, something quite different was waiting for her.Stacks of paper, yellowed news clippings, photographs… pinned neatly to a pinboard against one wall. And in the center, her last name: is Romano—red, capital letters.Her breathing froze. Her heart thudded.This was not her seduction anymore. This was an obsession.Her palm rested upon a photograph wedged between the front. It was of her father, years ago, at a fund-raising dinner. Below that one, barely discernible, was another—Elena herself as a child, innocent, smiling up at her mother.She hadn't seen these photographs in years."Where are you in here?"His words cut into the stillness like a knife.Elena spun,
The hurricane outside mirrored the storm that had tempested Elena's heart. Rain lashed against Killian's penthouse windows, and she didn't notice it. Her back bowed into chilled marble, spine held captive by Killian's, his breathing a soft trickle down her temple."Say it again," he threatened, his warning flavored with danger.Elena's throat constricted as she swallowed hard, dry throat and, pounding heart as she said, "I don't belong to you."His mouth curled into a black smile. "You can fool yourself, Elena. But your body never forgets."He scooted forward and pecked at the curve of her neck, his warmth on the beat of her pulse. She should push him away. Should scream and tell him that he didn't have any right—but her hands remained where they were on the material of his suit jacket, her knees shaking, folding up under his touch."You hate me," Killian growled, pulling his head up far enough to lock gazes. "But you want me to. That's what frightens you."She spat at him, rage mixin
Elena gazed at the pictures on her phone, shaking her hand in frustration as she scrolled through them one by one. Each picture an open wound afresh—Killian and her father together at that charity event so many years ago, a second one where Killian would show up at the Romano compound days before the attack which had altered everything. And the final picture. Her brother Dante is very much alive. With Victor DeLuca.It didn't add up. Any of it.The penthouse air felt thick, thick upon her chest like a weight she couldn't put down. She paced the living room, Killian's words ringing in her ears from that evening: "You don't know everything, Elena." No. She hadn't. And yet now, slowly, she was discovering.And the truth cut through like a knife cutting through well-made resolve.A door slammed behind her. She turned, already tense. Killian came in, his black top unbuttoned at the collar, showing the soft welts on his collarbone from the last battle. His dark eyes absorbed the charged atm
The door hinge creaked as loudly as a rifle in the stillness. Elena sat inside, knotted with tension that forbade her from breathing. Her fingers trembled weakly as she loosened her jacket, draping it over a chair. She was still conscious of Killian's warmth on her wrist, the way his eyes had darkened in ferocity as she'd moved away from him.But she had to go. Didn't she?Elena by the window, city lights casting a sickly glow on her face. Down below, Manhattan thudding to its beat, a town never pausing to consider what people hid. And her own was more substantial than the skyline.The last forty-eight hours had reduced her to a whirlpool she wasn't ready for. Dante's ominous reappearance, Killian's jealousy tantrums in front of the boardroom building—it was all coming unraveled.Her control over all.She tensed at a knock on the door.Her heart ceased to beat. She had wished him not to be him, for one solitary beat.He was."Open up, Elena," deep, gravelly, quietly lethal Killian's v
The enmity between them had boiled over, but their final encounter had solidified into strained peace. Elena had never been sundered so completely. Dangling over an abyss, she had teetered between past and future, love and obligation, the man who had ruined her and the one who could restore her—or destroy her completely.She paced the hotel suite in agitated circles, unable not to tear apart each sentence, each touch they shared. On the streets, the city churned gray beneath the streetlights, its body still intact and oblivious to the storm brewing just below her skin.Sophia's, Dante's, all colliding into one another made her ill. How was she ever going to pull it off? How was she ever going to be able to trust another human being in her life?Her coffee table phone called, breaking up her dizzily spinning thoughts. She didn't stir, lost a beat. She answered, not that she cared what the caller was. It showed private number on the screen.She breathed, her chest expanding."Hello?" Sh
Elena rode alone in the rear of the black sedan, city lights streaking past her face like ghosts from the other side of the world. Her fist was locked around the waistband of her dress, gathering the satin into her hand as if she could shake the fear out of her body. Killian's words from weeks ago still rang through her mind, hungry and on repeat:"You still think you can handle me, Elena? The fact is, I won already."She loathed the way it made her feel—how his voice alone could make her loosen her grip on her knees and muffle her heart in a stutter. Loathed the way his mere presence in the same room left her responding with shaking nerves and ragged breath.The car skidded rabidly before her penthouse. Her driver opened the door and got out, and she remained seated, disregarding the banding across her chest. She needed to concentrate. Killian's last move hadn't been a move of control—it had been a move of intimidation. He'd wanted her to feel trapped.And God have mercy on her, it w
Elena sat cross-legged on her apartment floor, lights out, the city glow casting long shadows on the glass windows. The flash drive nestled in her palm like a hot wire—unobtrusive, small, and quiet, but heavy with her history. The questions she'd been searching for for years. The answers she never thought Killian would provide.Her computer sat with the lid up on the small coffee table, the cursor flashing in time with the beat of her heart.She wasn't ready.She never could be.Her eyes shut. She inserted the flash drive. The screen sprang to life, folders standing at precise attention, titles in Killian's neat, painstaking script: Bank Transfers. Contracts. Victor. My Father. Yours.Elena opened the last one.They came out slowly, one at a time: letters, bank statements, deeds to property. And in the center—a scanned letter that had been sent almost twelve years earlier. Her father's handwriting, so recognizable in all the years.She moved closer."Killian—If you are reading this,
Elena sat cross-legged on her apartment floor, lights out, the city glow casting long shadows on the glass windows. The flash drive nestled in her palm like a hot wire—unobtrusive, small, and quiet, but heavy with her history. The questions she'd been searching for for years. The answers she never thought Killian would provide.Her computer sat with the lid up on the small coffee table, the cursor flashing in time with the beat of her heart.She wasn't ready.She never could be.Her eyes shut. She inserted the flash drive. The screen sprang to life, folders standing at precise attention, titles in Killian's neat, painstaking script: Bank Transfers. Contracts. Victor. My Father. Yours.Elena opened the last one.They came out slowly, one at a time: letters, bank statements, deeds to property. And in the center—a scanned letter that had been sent almost twelve years earlier. Her father's handwriting, so recognizable in all the years.She moved closer."Killian—If you are reading this,
Elena rode alone in the rear of the black sedan, city lights streaking past her face like ghosts from the other side of the world. Her fist was locked around the waistband of her dress, gathering the satin into her hand as if she could shake the fear out of her body. Killian's words from weeks ago still rang through her mind, hungry and on repeat:"You still think you can handle me, Elena? The fact is, I won already."She loathed the way it made her feel—how his voice alone could make her loosen her grip on her knees and muffle her heart in a stutter. Loathed the way his mere presence in the same room left her responding with shaking nerves and ragged breath.The car skidded rabidly before her penthouse. Her driver opened the door and got out, and she remained seated, disregarding the banding across her chest. She needed to concentrate. Killian's last move hadn't been a move of control—it had been a move of intimidation. He'd wanted her to feel trapped.And God have mercy on her, it w
The enmity between them had boiled over, but their final encounter had solidified into strained peace. Elena had never been sundered so completely. Dangling over an abyss, she had teetered between past and future, love and obligation, the man who had ruined her and the one who could restore her—or destroy her completely.She paced the hotel suite in agitated circles, unable not to tear apart each sentence, each touch they shared. On the streets, the city churned gray beneath the streetlights, its body still intact and oblivious to the storm brewing just below her skin.Sophia's, Dante's, all colliding into one another made her ill. How was she ever going to pull it off? How was she ever going to be able to trust another human being in her life?Her coffee table phone called, breaking up her dizzily spinning thoughts. She didn't stir, lost a beat. She answered, not that she cared what the caller was. It showed private number on the screen.She breathed, her chest expanding."Hello?" Sh
The door hinge creaked as loudly as a rifle in the stillness. Elena sat inside, knotted with tension that forbade her from breathing. Her fingers trembled weakly as she loosened her jacket, draping it over a chair. She was still conscious of Killian's warmth on her wrist, the way his eyes had darkened in ferocity as she'd moved away from him.But she had to go. Didn't she?Elena by the window, city lights casting a sickly glow on her face. Down below, Manhattan thudding to its beat, a town never pausing to consider what people hid. And her own was more substantial than the skyline.The last forty-eight hours had reduced her to a whirlpool she wasn't ready for. Dante's ominous reappearance, Killian's jealousy tantrums in front of the boardroom building—it was all coming unraveled.Her control over all.She tensed at a knock on the door.Her heart ceased to beat. She had wished him not to be him, for one solitary beat.He was."Open up, Elena," deep, gravelly, quietly lethal Killian's v
Elena gazed at the pictures on her phone, shaking her hand in frustration as she scrolled through them one by one. Each picture an open wound afresh—Killian and her father together at that charity event so many years ago, a second one where Killian would show up at the Romano compound days before the attack which had altered everything. And the final picture. Her brother Dante is very much alive. With Victor DeLuca.It didn't add up. Any of it.The penthouse air felt thick, thick upon her chest like a weight she couldn't put down. She paced the living room, Killian's words ringing in her ears from that evening: "You don't know everything, Elena." No. She hadn't. And yet now, slowly, she was discovering.And the truth cut through like a knife cutting through well-made resolve.A door slammed behind her. She turned, already tense. Killian came in, his black top unbuttoned at the collar, showing the soft welts on his collarbone from the last battle. His dark eyes absorbed the charged atm
The hurricane outside mirrored the storm that had tempested Elena's heart. Rain lashed against Killian's penthouse windows, and she didn't notice it. Her back bowed into chilled marble, spine held captive by Killian's, his breathing a soft trickle down her temple."Say it again," he threatened, his warning flavored with danger.Elena's throat constricted as she swallowed hard, dry throat and, pounding heart as she said, "I don't belong to you."His mouth curled into a black smile. "You can fool yourself, Elena. But your body never forgets."He scooted forward and pecked at the curve of her neck, his warmth on the beat of her pulse. She should push him away. Should scream and tell him that he didn't have any right—but her hands remained where they were on the material of his suit jacket, her knees shaking, folding up under his touch."You hate me," Killian growled, pulling his head up far enough to lock gazes. "But you want me to. That's what frightens you."She spat at him, rage mixin
Elena hadn't meant to pass into Killian's private sanctum, but the golden radiance that curled about the threshold and the disturbing stillness beyond the doorway drew her in irresistibly, a moth to a flame. She'd told herself she was just keeping up with him—that she was ahead. But when the creaking, protesting door slid open, something quite different was waiting for her.Stacks of paper, yellowed news clippings, photographs… pinned neatly to a pinboard against one wall. And in the center, her last name: is Romano—red, capital letters.Her breathing froze. Her heart thudded.This was not her seduction anymore. This was an obsession.Her palm rested upon a photograph wedged between the front. It was of her father, years ago, at a fund-raising dinner. Below that one, barely discernible, was another—Elena herself as a child, innocent, smiling up at her mother.She hadn't seen these photographs in years."Where are you in here?"His words cut into the stillness like a knife.Elena spun,
The penthouse was too quiet.Elena took her position in the darkness of the living room, her breathing controlled, her hands still trembling with the fight at Graves Enterprises. The tension lingered with her, weighted with the recollection of Killian's stern gaze and the ring to his voice when he told her to get out.She had struggled to come back to him, broken her own heart to do so close to the truth—and now it was all falling apart all over again. The man she once assumed ruined her now worked as her protector. And just when she started to assume he could rescue her too. he pushed her away more brutally than ever before.Her phone rang, but she couldn't force herself to look at it. Nathan or Rachel, most likely. Most likely questions, pressure, and further reminders the game she was playing was getting way, way out of her control.The door behind her burst open, and for a moment her heart refused the truth and wished it could be him.It wasn't."Raven," Rachel's voice was soft bu
Elena stood in front of Killian's mirror wall inside his gym, her face broken by beams of light passing through windows that reached from floor to ceiling. Her heart thumped in her ears—not from the light morning practice she'd attempted, but from the tension that had never ceased since the battle with Killian last night.He had not gone back to bed.Not that she would have forced him to. Their argument had disturbed something in her—a reality she did not wish to acknowledge but could no longer avoid. Her desire to control, her inability to be helpless, had always been entwined around him. And now, as she was getting close to the unspoken reality of what happened six years ago, that fear was becoming something else—telepathy.She tied her hair back into a loose ponytail and grabbed the towel from the bench, wiping her face. The door creaked open behind her."You should learn to lock doors, Raven." Killian’s voice was deep, rough with sleep… and something else. Anger? Frustration?She