LOGINAfter Brielle Monroe believes she fell in love she discovers she actually fell into the hands of David Knightwood—a man she comes to fear for his ruthlessness —she’s stripped of her freedom and thrust into a gilded cage where obedience is survival. Just when Brielle begins to find slivers of safety and even twisted affection in David’s care, a devastating miscarriage shatters her spirit. Years pass in silence and shadow, until Brielle files for divorce, desperate to reclaim her life—but David refuses to let go without a fight. As secrets unravel and a final betrayal surfaces, Brielle learns her escape was never freedom at all—because the most dangerous prison isn’t built of walls, but of love laced with possession.
View MoreFour Years Later…Brielle stepped out of Michael Trevors’ law office with the sun warming her cheeks and something even rarer pulsing in her chest—relief. Not joy. Not yet. But the quiet, quaking breath of a woman who had just crossed the last bridge behind her and tossed the match without flinching.She didn’t drive back to the mansion. She didn’t even glance in that direction. Instead, she turned the wheel toward Rovello Drive. The house her mother had died in. The house David had gutted and rebuilt just to appease her grief. Now it was hers, in full. She had the deed. Her name. Her autonomy. And she wasn’t going back.Not this time.Her fingers trembled as she pulled into the driveway, but her spine held straight. Her heart pounded—not from fear, but from something she hadn’t felt in a long time.Finality.David would be livid. She knew that. He would twist and scream and try every tactic in his arsenal. But it was too late. She had been planning her escape in silence for years—whi
David hadn’t moved from the chair beside her bed.Not once.His eyes were bloodshot, his body heavy with exhaustion, but still he sat—like a sentinel, like if he looked away for even a second she might slip away again. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t eat. He just watched her, holding her hand when the nurses weren’t, brushing strands of hair from her face when they stuck to her damp forehead.The beeping of machines filled the silence like a steady heartbeat.Then—her fingers twitched.Her eyelids fluttered.David jolted upright, his heart catching in his throat. “Brielle?”She blinked groggily, the fog of sedation thick in her eyes. Her gaze drifted around the room in slow confusion until her body seemed to remember before her mind could catch up.Her hands flew to her stomach.“David?” Her voice cracked like old porcelain—thin, trembling, jagged at the edges. “Is the baby okay?”He didn’t speak.Didn’t need to.Grief was already carved into every line of his face—etched deep in the shado
David awoke to a sound no man should ever hear.A scream. Ripped from the throat of the woman he loved like it had claws—wild, primal, full of terror.His eyes snapped open, body reacting before mind caught up. The sheets were twisted around his legs, her body writhing beside him. “Brielle?” he rasped, already reaching. “What is it? Talk to me—”But she didn’t respond.She couldn’t.She was sobbing, thrashing, clawing at her thighs like she was trying to tear something out of herself. Her nails raked the sheets, legs kicking, mouth open in a soundless wail now—one that had stolen her breath.David reached for her again—and froze.His hand met something wet.Something thick.Sticky.Warm.He yanked it back like it burned him, staring at his fingers in the dim light. They were smeared in red.His stomach dropped through the floor.“Fuck—no, no, no—”He lunged for the bedside lamp, and when the light flared to life, the room shifted.It was no longer a bedroom.It was a crime scene.The
Brielle ran her hands over the crib’s edge, fingers tracing the curve of the polished mahogany like it might unlock some secret if she touched it just right. The wood was rich and dark, smooth beneath her fingertips. Heavy. Grounding.“What about this one?” she asked softly, barely above a whisper—as though speaking too loud might shatter the fragile calm she’d found in this sea of lullaby colors and curated softness.David stepped beside her, his presence large and sure, eyes appraising the craftsmanship. “Mahogany,” he murmured. “Solid. Timeless.” He gave it a firm push, testing its sturdiness. It didn’t budge. “It’s perfect.”He didn’t hesitate. “We’ll take the complete set,” he said with quiet finality, flagging down the clerk without looking away from the crib.“There’s also a wardrobe, sir,” the clerk added helpfully, sensing a sale worth chasing. “A rocker. Side table. Matching dresser—”David’s gaze cut sharp. “I said complete. That means everything. Deliver it all.”He didn’t












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