Emma Scott has always had it all—wealth, beauty, and power. As the privileged daughter of a business tycoon, she ruled her university years with confidence, arrogance, and an undeniable presence. But beneath her sharp tongue and ruthless attitude was an obsession she never dared to name—Killian Thomas, the one man who never bowed to her. Killian, a hardworking scholarship student from a middle-class background, despised Emma for the torment she put him through. She was cruel, entitled, and always seemed to have a target on his back. But when one heated argument after class turns into something far more physical, their hatred transforms into an addiction neither of them can resist. What starts as secret, no-strings-attached encounters after lectures spirals into something far more dangerous. They become study partners, but their breaks are filled with untamed passion. One night, they get locked inside the library and spend the entire night indulging in their darkest desires. Their obsession only grows stronger. Upon graduation, Killian is offered a job at Emma’s father’s company, the very place where Emma works. Their sinful rendezvous continue in secret—stolen moments in offices, forbidden trysts during business trips. They think they’re careful, but when Emma’s father catches them in a compromising position overseas, their affair is exposed. Faced with an ultimatum, Emma refuses to back down. She confesses that her bullying was always a twisted way of masking her love for Killian. She threatens to leave everything behind if her father dares to fire him. Forced to confront their true feelings, Emma and Killian finally make their relationship official. But even after marriage, their hunger for each other remains insatiable—whether at home, at work, or in places they should never be. Their passion is reckless. Their love is ruthless. And their temptation?
View MoreKillian It was her sigh that did it. Not the dramatic kind. Not frustration. It was that soft, aching exhale Emma only made when she was overwhelmed and trying not to be. We were in the kitchen—Alina was finger-painting on the island while Emma tried to juggle a work call on her AirPods and stir the pasta sauce with one hand. I came in just in time to see her blink rapidly, like she was forcing herself not to fall apart over marinara and toddler chaos. So I took the spoon from her hand. Kissed her temple. And said, “We’re leaving.” She blinked up at me. “What?” “Weekend away. Just us. No phones. No work. No toddler. Just you and me and silence.” “And sex?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. I smirked. “Absolutely. Lots of it.” She gave a tired laugh, but I caught the flicker of relief
Emma It started innocently. Alina was curled up in my lap, half-asleep with her thumb in her mouth and my silk scarf gripped tightly in her hand, her favorite comfort lately. Killian had just finished building her new playhouse in the backyard—complete with a miniature mailbox, flower boxes, and fairy lights. He looked so damn proud, sweat glistening on his brow as he stood there, hands on his hips, like a man who’d conquered the world. “You know,” I murmured, brushing a curl off Alina’s forehead, “you’d make a pretty good stay-at-home dad.” He smirked, grabbing a towel to wipe his face. “That sounds dangerously close to domestic bliss. Should I be worried?” I rolled my eyes, but then—my voice softened. “Sometimes I think she needs a sibling.” Killian froze. It was subtle. A half-second pause. A hitch in his breath. But I saw it.
Emma It happened on a Tuesday—quiet, unremarkable, a normal day. Killian had just come home early, juggling a grocery bag and muttering about the lack of decent sourdough in the city, while I was on the floor in leggings and a worn university sweatshirt, trying to get Alina to sit still long enough for her afternoon snack. “Why does she always manage to get banana in her hair?” I muttered as I wiped her cheeks for the fifth time. “She gets it from you,” Killian teased from the kitchen. “Messy when hungry.” I threw a baby spoon at him. He caught it like a reflex and grinned. Alina giggled. And then, without warning, she pushed herself up. I froze. “Killian,” I said quietly. “Come here. Now.” He rounded the counter just in time to see her lift her foot, wobble, and take one step—then two—toward me. My heart caught in my throat.
Emma The Hamptons glow still lingered on my skin. I could still feel Killian’s lips on my collarbone from the night before, the warmth of his arms around me while Alina slept soundly in the portable crib by our bed. That vacation had reminded me what we were fighting for. But peace is always temporary when it comes to my father. I barely had one hand on my morning coffee when my assistant walked in with her usual clipped tone. “Your father’s office scheduled a breakfast meeting with you today. Ten sharp. He insisted.” I groaned, muttering a curse under my breath. “Of course he did.” Killian glanced up from where he was feeding Alina mashed banana. “What does the king want now?” I smirked at the nickname. “Probably to tell me I’m still doing everything wrong.” “Want me to come?” I looked at him—the man who had gone from my rival to my lover to the father of my child
Emma I wasn’t sure what possessed me to suggest a beach trip with a one-year-old. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the lingering fantasy of sipping cocktails in a bikini while Killian rubbed sunscreen on my back like the old days. Maybe I was just desperate to feel like me again—not just Emma Scott-Thomas the wife, the mother, the executive. Just… Emma. But two hours into the drive with a wailing baby in the backseat and Killian giving me side-eyes every ten minutes like whose idea was this again?—I knew we were in for a ride. “We’re not even out of the city yet,” I muttered, leaning my head back against the seat as Alina screamed bloody murder over her pacifier falling for the third time. Killian reached for it blindly with one hand on the wheel, but I was already unbuckling. “I’ve got it,” I sighed. “Remind me why we thought this was a g
Killian’s POV I’d closed billion-dollar deals with less stress than trying to get a baby to nap. My arms were starting to go numb as I gently bounced our six-week-old daughter, Ava, against my chest. Her tiny cheek pressed into my shoulder, warm breath puffing against my skin, her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of my t-shirt like letting go meant she might fall into the abyss of baby nightmares again. Emma was in the living room, giving a pitch via Zoom to the Paris-based luxury brand her team had been courting for the past six months. Her voice came through the baby monitor loud and crisp—confident, articulate, the kind of commanding presence that made boardrooms go silent. And here I was, pacing in footie pajamas, humming a lullaby I barely remembered the lyrics to. But I wouldn’t trade it. This was my new battlefield. This was our new life.
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