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Shifting Ground

Fashola Ifedolapo
last update Veröffentlichungsdatum: 28.03.2026 19:10:47

Celestia

I woke up late, but it didn’t feel like rest.

My body was still tired, but my mind hadn’t stopped working since that call.

Victor Hale.

Even thinking his name made something in my chest tighten.

He didn’t sound like a man who made empty threats. He sounded like someone who already knew how things would end and was just waiting for me to catch up.

I got out of bed slowly and walked toward the window. The street looked normal. People passing, cars moving, nothing out of place.

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  • Stripper's love: Addicted to Me    what happens Next

    Celestia I should have known something was wrong. The silence. The way the house felt… too still. Even Sebastian hadn’t come by that morning, and that alone made my stomach twist. Priscilla was the one to confirm my fears. She didn’t call. She showed up. The moment I opened the door and saw her face, I knew. “What happened?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. She didn’t step inside immediately. She just stood there, staring at me like she was trying to figure out how to say something she didn’t want to say. “Cel…” My chest tightened. “Just say it.” Slowly, she crossed the threshold. “I heard something this morning.” “From where?” I asked, closing the door behind her. “From someone who works close to the Sinclairs.” My stomach dropped. “What about them?” She hesitated, and that hesitation said more than words ever could. “Your name came up.” I crossed my arms instinctively. “It always does.” “Not like this.” Silence stretched between us. Heavy

  • Stripper's love: Addicted to Me    line being drawn

    Celestia The days started blending together. Not in a peaceful way but in a way that made it hard to tell where things were going. Sebastian had been showing up more. Just… there. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. Then I realized Sebastian Sinclair didn’t do coincidences. He came in the afternoons sometimes. Other times, late at night. He never stayed too long, but he never rushed either. Like he was making sure something. Or someone. Was still there. I didn’t ask. And he didn’t explain. That afternoon, he was leaning against the kitchen counter while I poured water into a glass. “You’re staying inside too much,” he said. I glanced at him. “And whose fault is that?” His expression didn’t change. “Mine, apparently.” I handed him the glass. “Apparently.” He took it but didn’t drink immediately. “You’re safer this way.” I leaned against the opposite side of the counter. “Safe isn’t the same as free.” “That’s not the point.” “It is to me.” He studied me for a mom

  • Stripper's love: Addicted to Me    Shifting Ground

    Celestia I woke up late, but it didn’t feel like rest. My body was still tired, but my mind hadn’t stopped working since that call. Victor Hale. Even thinking his name made something in my chest tighten. He didn’t sound like a man who made empty threats. He sounded like someone who already knew how things would end and was just waiting for me to catch up. I got out of bed slowly and walked toward the window. The street looked normal. People passing, cars moving, nothing out of place. But I didn’t trust normal anymore. My phone buzzed on the bed. I turned back and picked it up. Priscilla. “Please tell me you’re inside,” she said the moment I answered. “I am.” “Good. Because something feels off today.” I leaned against the wall. “What did you hear?” “There were people asking questions about you again.” My grip on the phone tightened. “At the club?” “Yes. But not the usual type.” I frowned slightly. “What do you mean?” “They weren’t drunk men looking for a show. They w

  • Stripper's love: Addicted to Me    Blood doesn't mean loyalty

    Celestia “You’ve become important.” Sebastian’s words stayed with me long after he left. Important. The word didn’t feel like power. It felt like danger. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone. My thoughts were everywhere—Sebastian, the men watching me, the stranger who approached me… And then, My father. I exhaled sharply and dialed Priscilla. She picked up instantly. “So you finally decided to remember you have a best friend?” I almost smiled. “Relax.” “I will not relax,” she snapped. “Your father called me again.” My body went still. “What did he say?” “He wants to see you. Urgently.” I rolled my eyes. “Of course he does.” “Celestia, I’m serious. He sounded desperate.” “He’s always desperate when money is involved.” There was a pause. Then Priscilla added “He mentioned Angel.” My jaw tightened. “What about her?” “He said she might be dragged into his mess.” I let out a dry laugh. “Angel would probably celebrate if

  • Stripper's love: Addicted to Me    Eyes on you

    Celestia was bent over the cold, unyielding surface of the granite island, her fingers gripping the edge so hard her knuckles had turned white. Her dress was a ruin of fabric bunched around her waist, exposing the delicate black lace of her thong and the smooth curve of her ass to the cool air. Behind her, Sebastian was a furnace of heat, his presence overwhelming, dominating her senses completely. He didn’t ask for permission; he took what was offered with a confidence that made Celestia’s knees weak. She felt the blunt, heavy head of his cock prodding at her entrance, teasing her slick folds. She was already soaking wet, her body betraying her need with a flood of arousal that coated her thighs. The anticipation was a physical ache, a throb deep in her clit that demanded attention. She pushed back against him, a silent plea, a desperate invitation. "Please," she gasped, the word barely audible, torn from her throat by the sheer intensity of her need. Sebastian didn’t make her

  • Stripper's love: Addicted to Me    The Announcement

    Celestia The knock came late. Too late for it to be normal. I froze on my bed, my heart instantly picking up pace. No one came to see me at this hour. Not unless something was wrong. Or dangerous. The knock came again. My breath caught. I already knew who it was. I stood slowly, my bare feet silent against the floor as I walked toward the door. For a second, my hand hovered over the handle. Then I opened it. Sebastian Sinclair stood there. Like he owned the night. His dark eyes settled on me immediately, sharp and unreadable. He looked the same as always—perfectly put together, powerful, untouched by the chaos of the world. As if he hadn’t been shot just days ago. As if nothing could touch him. “What are you doing here?” I asked. Instead of answering, his gaze moved over me slowly. Making sure I was fine. Only then did he step inside without waiting for permission. “I heard you’ve been staying in,” he said casually. I shut the door behind him. “And?” “And that’s no

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