LOGINTara and Mike didn't choose each other. An arranged marriage binds them, trapping them in a cohabitation as burning as it is explosive. She, audacious, obstinate, wants to tame this man with the fiery gaze, this cold, angry husband who hides his wounds behind a wall of ice. He, haunted by his fears, consumed by jealousy, fights against the disturbance this unsubmissive woman awakens in him. Between confrontations and attraction, their daily life becomes a battlefield where every word is a weapon, every glance a provocation. Tara wants to understand him, to push him to love. Mike wants to protect himself from her, but ends up burning with desire for her. In this war where love and hate intertwine, the real battle lies elsewhere: learning to trust, to respect, to heal. But when two wounded souls clash, can one truly hope for peace… or only reap the ashes of an impossible love?
View MoreTARA
I look at him, this handsome stranger. He must be the Sanguinary's first son; he's breathtakingly beautiful. What age would I give him? Thirty-five maybe? He seems much older than my brothers, virile, sculptural, irresistible. I approach, studying him discreetly. Lord… I want him. My heart is pounding: it's the first time a man has affected me like this. Never has any man had this effect on me.
I pretend to greet Aunt Apryl, as if I hadn't just been seized by this violent emotion. For years, she's attended the same events, but her husband is almost never there; I wonder why. I hope someday to meet my future father-in-law, because, in this instant, this boy belongs to me.
— Good evening, Aunt Apryl.
— Good evening, my dear. Excuse me, I can't always tell you apart from your sister. Are you Tara or Sarah?
— I'm Tara.
— Ah… it's you, Tara. You look too much alike.
— Yes, it's true, but we're also very different.
— It doesn't show.
— Will you introduce me to your children?
The eldest boy's gaze darkens. Aunt Apryl continues:
— Let me introduce my first stepson, Mike; he must be thirty-five. And his little brother Damien, thirty. You know my twins: Dina and Silvia. They're the same age as you.
I turn to Mike and extend my hand.
— Good evening, Mike, I'm.
— Tara, I heard. Now go play with children your own age.
What a frosty welcome. What impertinence! By what right does he speak to me like that? Besides being too old for me, he's childish. Only a man with issues behaves like this, I tell myself.
— I didn't give you permission to use 'tu' with me!
— Neither did I!
I quickly finish greeting the rest of the family, then stay nearby, curious to learn more about their father.
— Aunt Apryl, how is your husband?
— He's fine, he sends his regards.
I move closer to ask quietly:
— Tell me, why is Mike so rude?
She smiles knowingly.
— He's like that. I get the impression you like him, don't you?
— Uh… no. I'm just trying to get to know you better.
Her smile tells me she doesn't believe me at all.
— Take some advice: if you want something, go for it. He'll eventually see you differently.
— That will be difficult. He doesn't like people getting close to him.
— That's exactly why he's still single. He's like an angry bear; if you enter his territory, you might discover a tender heart.
— I won't give up without a fight. I haven't said my last word.
— Well said. You're your mother's worthy daughter.
— Thank you. I love hearing that.
— Tell me about your mother, what was she like when you were young?
— She hasn't changed: she gives orders, she knows what she wants, and she gets what she wants. Sometimes it annoys me.
— That's her nature. And thanks to her, our family is what it is. She's the one who helped your Uncle Philippe marry the former president's daughter. See the result: he's happy.
I can't help but glance at the idiot focused on his phone, in the middle of the room. He seems elsewhere, as if he absolutely doesn't want to be there.
Without warning, I snatch the phone from his hands and run out. He immediately gets up, furious, to follow me. Tonight, I sense I'm going to have fun.
I run up the stairs; where could I take him to steal a kiss? The elevator would be perfect for a first trap. While he goes down the other stairs, I take the elevator and make sure he blocks the door with his hands. Hmm… my handsome Mike, you don't know you've just fallen into my net.
— May I know what's wrong with you? Are you going to stop your childish games with me, you hear me? Now give me back my phone.
— You want your phone? Come and get it.
He remains motionless for a moment. I provoke him:
— Are you afraid of a simple woman?
His gaze pierces me, icy enough to make me shiver.
— You don't know me. Don't mess with me, you might regret it.
— That's exactly what I want. Make me regret it.
My heart pounds, but I put on a brave face. I'm ready to play.
TaraThe silence in the blue room is more deafening than any scream. A heavy perfume of betrayal, blood, and fear hangs there, as tangible as the fog over the docks. Mike is still rooted near the window, pale as a ghost, his borrowed elegance in tatters.Valentina and Nyah release me, but remain in a guarding position, ready to intervene again. Their gazes, usually so inscrutable, are troubled. They see the crack. I have fallen from my pedestal and revealed myself as a wild beast. But a useful beast. One that is feared."Get out," I order in a voice I don't recognize, hoarse, ravaged by screaming."Tara…" Valentina begins."GET OUT!" I repeat, and this time, it's the roar of a wild animal.They obey. They retreat toward the door, Nyah casting one last sidelong glance at Mike, a mixture of pity and contempt. The door closes, leaving
TaraThe party is at its peak around me. Laughter rings out, false and too shrill. Champagne flutes empty and refill in a gilded ballet. I smile, I circulate, I reign. But something suddenly weighs heavy in the air. A dissonance.My gaze lands on Bianca. The Girl with Diamonds. She's bent over her phone, her usually so radiant smile has faded. Her fingers tap rapidly. She types a name. Her thumb hesitates a second before sending the message. Then that smile returns, but it's a grimace of triumph, cruel and quick, which she immediately erases.She stands up, a little too fast."The bathroom, darling?" Sofia calls out to her with a broad wave of her arm."I know the way, thanks," Bianca replies in a voice she tries to make neutral, but in which I perceive a hint of nervousness.She doesn't head for the bathroom. She takes the east wing corridor. The one leading to the guest rooms. To our room.Ice instantly forms in my veins. The champagne turns to vinegar in my stomach. I stare at her
TaraThe rain has fallen silent, but the night, for its part, hasn't finished speaking.I dress slowly, a slit black dress, heels as sharp as a threat.Every gesture is a silent response to his absence.He wanted to leave. Let him leave.As for me, I'm going to reign.On the vanity, the wedding ring still gleams.I spin it between my fingers, then dial a number on the red phone he keeps for business.The families' little black book.The names that govern Chicago from the shadows.The voices answer, polite, hesitant.I don't speak long.A few words are enough:"Tonight, at my place, your queen. No men, no guards."In thirty minutes, black cars glide past the manor.The hall lights up with a new radiance, a blend of opulence and danger.Eight heiresses, eight faces of a single empire.They are young, beautiful, and each carries in their eyes the trace of power either bequeathed to them or stolen.---— Valentina Moretti: The She-Wolf of Little ItalyDaughter of the Moretti clan's godfat
TaraThe night wind slaps me as I leave The Iron Bar.I still feel their stares on my back—a mix of fear, admiration, and judgment. No matter. I've marked my territory.I am no longer a wife to be tolerated.I am a threat they will have to respect.The car waits for me at the entrance. The driver lowers his eyes, silent, as I get in.Chicago flashes by behind the window, sparkling and violent, a monster of glass and fire.I know Mike will join me.He can't stand being challenged publicly. And tonight, I did it in front of all his men.I barely touch the cold handle of the mansion door when I hear the roar of an engine in the distance.I smile.He's already here.I go upstairs, remove my earrings, take off my shoes, then let myself fall onto the edge of the bed.I won a battle.But the war is just beginning.The door slams downstairs.His steps climb. Slow. Heavy. Inexorable.Each step he takes tightens something in my chest—not fear, no. A tension, raw, electric.He enters.Dark gaze,






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