“You’re mine.” “No,” she corrected, stepping closer until their chests nearly brushed. “I’m your obsession. There's a difference.” Then—again—that wicked, infuriating smirk. He leaned in slowly, lips ghosting over her ear. “I don’t share, Elara.” “Then you should’ve tried harder to keep me.” She turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the garden without looking back. Killian stayed there, jaw tight, fury simmering below the surface. She thinks she’s winning. But she hadn’t seen obsession at its peak. Not yet **** Elara Beckett picture perfect life crumbles when her step sister, Ivy, stole her fiancé, Aiden, and her father’s company. Heartbroken Elara leaves then returns five years later as a successful fashion designer who is determined to take back her legacy and bring her sister down. She teams up with billionaire Killan Hayes, a ruthless man who has his own vendetta against ivy. A fake engagement is created and they work together to defeat Ivy and Aiden. In the process, sparks fly between Killan and Elara, this complicates their alliance. Dark secrets about her family and Killian's hidden motives come to light threatening to destroy everything. Elara must rise up and reclaim her destiny and find love in the chaos.
View MorePreston waited near the abandoned house on the hilltop, the one that overlooked the Beckett estate from a hidden but elevated angle. It used to be a secret hideout for rich kids playing rebel with cigars and stolen champagne. Now it was sjust dusty and empty.He had a reason for choosing this location specifically.Elara arrived ten minutes late, wrapped in a long black coat and confusion on her face. The sun was beginning to set at this point and she looked even more beautiful in the setting light.“You said it was urgent,” she said, eyes narrowing, breath visible in the cooling evening air. “Did ivy do something to you? Did she—”“It’s not,” Preston cut her off gently. “Come inside. You’ll want to sit.”She hesitated.But something in his voice made her follow without questions.He led her to the back of the house where a makeshift table stood. On it was his laptop and the black drive. He quietly plugged it in and opened a folder that he had titled: The truth.“I’m sorry,” he said s
It had taken him over a month.Thirty-seven days, to be exact.Preston knew because he’d marked every single one on a digital calendar that synced with three encrypted drives and a burner app disguised as a wellness tracker. Not that Ivy ever paid attention to his phone. She didn’t need to, she thought she owned him. That was her first mistake.The second?She finally trusted him.Or at least, she trusted him enough to hand him the keys to the kingdom: access to her computer.It hadn’t been difficult. A bullshit reason about securing her firewall after “detecting a breach attempt” had done the trick. He’d even tossed in some nonsense about a virus detection and endpoint encryption. Ivy had waved a manicured hand and muttered something about “handling it,” but in the end, she let him.“Don’t fuck anything up,” she’d said, her back turned as she walked away in that ridiculous silk robe and six-inch heels.He didn’t.Not outwardly.But behind the scenes? He’d burned through every defense
The sunlight filtered through the half-open curtains, warming the hardwood floor in the morning light. It was gentle, soft, as if the world knew it had witnessed something tender the night before and decided to ease into the day slowly.Elara stirred.Killian’s bed, no, not his bed, she reminded herself, a room in the house but gods, it smelled like him. That warm, musky scent of cedarwood and freshly washed sheets, the way his voice had sounded when he said she was the one thing he felt too deeply to draw… it had all stuck in her mind against her will.And to her skin.She shifted, a soft moan leaving her throat as soreness ached between her legs. A reminder. A claim for him in her.Stop it, she hissed internally. This is just another step. A phase. You’re not his. He’s the enemy. You’re playing him, remember?But then she looked down.She was wearing his shirt.A white,clean on which was oversized with the buttons half-done because her hands had trembled too much in the dark last
The next morningThe sun filtered in through the tall windows, soft and golden, catching in the strands of Elara’s hair as she sat across from Killian at the breakfast table observing him. The clinking of silverware against china filled the silence, but he hadn’t spoken a word. Not once.Elara tried not to stare, but her eyes kept drifting toward him. His jaw was tight, movements clipped, his gaze never lifting from his plate. Her heart pounded like war drums beneath her chest. Did he know?Had he seen the coded messages she had been sending to Preston, the subtle shifts in her behavior, the too-careful questions she’d asked last night?Was he pulling away?Had she already failed?“Come with me,” he said suddenly, his voice low, unreadable.She blinked, startled. “What?”He stood, not waiting for her to follow, and walked toward the hall. For a moment she hesitated, her hands clenched in her lap, but then she rose, trailing after him with cautious steps. They walked through corridor
The soft rustle of silk was the only thing she could hear through the quiet of Killian’s hallway as Elara stepped into the corridor. Her bare feet padded over the marble, her hair falling in soft waves down her back, and the neckline of her deep burgundy dress dipped just enough to command attention but still whisper elegance.Tonight, she wasn’t playing victim.She was going to be the instigator.Killian had been pacing the living room, phone to his ear, shirt sleeves rolled up, and that familiar scowl furrowing his brow. A man busy making moves, plotting Ivy’s ruin, shielding his own ambitions.He didn’t hear her approach until she spoke.“Are you always this intense when you’re working, Mr. Hayes?”Killian turned. His mouth parted slightly, and for a second, she caught it, the flicker in his eyes. Like hunger. Like lust.“Elara.” He blinked, ending the call mid-sentence without apology. “You… look different.”She gave a soft shrug. “Comfortable dresses don’t have to mean sweatpants
Preston adjusted his shirt in the mirror of his penthouse suite, smoothing the collar with steady fingers even though his insides were taut with a tension he hadn’t felt in years. Ivy Beckett wasn’t the kind of woman you approached without preparation. She was callculating. Cold. Beautiful in the way a diamond was—sharp-edged, meant to cut.He slipped a small listening device behind his ear, secure beneath his cufflink a tiny recorder. Just in case.The elevator dinged, and he stepped inside, pressing the button for the underground lounge Ivy liked to conduct her "unofficial" meetings in. The ride was smooth, silent, and way too fast.He needed to be ready.Because if this worked, Elara would get everything she wanted and Killian would fall.But if he slipped... even once... Ivy would smell the betrayal like blood in the water.****She was already waiting when he arrived.Of course she was.Leaning elegantly against the red booth in a sheer black blouse and leather pants, red wine ba
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