เข้าสู่ระบบDamon Sterling is the richest, most reckless playboy in the city. He parties every night, burns through sports cars, and ruins his family's reputation without a single care. His powerful mother, Patricia, has had enough. After watching a dirt-poor bouncer named Roxie Daniel single-handedly throw four armed thugs through a concrete wall without breaking a sweat, Patricia makes her an offer: move into Damon's mansion, act as his personal shadow, and break his wild habits by any means necessary. Damon expects an easy target to tease and dismiss, but he quickly discovers that money cannot intimidate Roxie, insults bounce right off her, and she can lift his luxury car with one hand. As Damon tries every dirty trick to run her off, Roxie drags him through chaotic street brawls, underground showdowns, and brutal reality checks, forcing him to grow up while she struggles to keep her impossible origin a secret and her heart protected.
ดูเพิ่มเติมThe executive board meeting ended in record time.Usually, corporate summits at Sterling Tower lasted six grueling hours of budget reports, angry debates, and endless PowerPoints. Today, thanks to a crumpled brass lamp and two unconscious security guards lying by the broken credenza, Damon closed the entire maritime port acquisition in under twenty-two minutes.Nobody argued. Nobody raised a hand. Carter signed every single document Damon slid across the glass table with shaking fingers, looking like he was terrified that breathing too loudly would cause me to snap his neck.When Damon finally stood up and buttoned his charcoal jacket, he didn't look like a nervous wreck anymore. The spoiled boy had transformed back into the king of the city, wearing a lazy, dangerous smirk that could melt glaciers."Wonderful doing business with you, gentlemen," Damon said smoothly, picking up his aviators. "Carter, have the janitor sweep up the decanter glass before someone ruins their loafers."Pat
The front bumper of the red Ferrari scraped along the pavement like a metal rake the entire drive downtown, making a horrible grinding sound that turned every head on the street.I tapped my fingers on the cracked steering wheel, humming along to the cheesy pop song playing through the radio. Next to me, Damon sat stiff as a marble statue. He had both hands clenched tightly in his lap, his jaw locked, his eyes glued straight to the road ahead. Every time I hit the brake and the crushed bumper squealed, his left eye gave a tiny, nervous twitch."Nice sound system," I said, glancing over at him with a wide grin. "Very clear bass."Damon didn't turn his head. His knuckles turned white against his expensive charcoal pants. "You broke my car. That vehicle was custom-built in Milan. Only ten exist in the world.""Well, now only nine and a half exist," I answered smoothly, taking a sharp right turn into the financial district. "You tried to turn me into roadkill, remember? Consider the crush
Damon Sterling looked like a drowned, furious prince who had just been dropped into a garbage disposal.Water dripped from his dark, sodden eyelashes down to the hollow of his cheekbones. His white silk shirt was completely ruined, plastered transparently across broad shoulders, a sharp collarbone, and the lean, hard muscle of his chest. His hands were gripping the chrome shower bar so tightly that his knuckles were stark white."You're dead," he rasped, coughing out a mouthful of icy water. "You hear me? You're a dead woman. Nobody does this to me. Nobody.""You have thirty-five minutes now," I said calmly, leaning my shoulder against the marble doorframe and checking my chipped fingernails. "Keep yelling if you want, but you're only shaving off your drying time."He lunged up from the floor, sputtering with murderous fury. For a guy who spent his nights drinking vintage liquor and burning cash, he moved surprisingly fast. He tried to shove past me into the master bedroom, his jaw ti
I have three basic rules for staying out of trouble when you have zero money to your name.Rule number one: never buy the fancy soap when dish liquid cleans your clothes just as well.Rule number two: always keep two sticks of mint gum in your pocket so your stomach thinks you just ate dinner.Rule number three: never, ever punch an idiot with your full strength unless you have enough cash to fix the hole in the wall.Tonight, rule number three was practically dead on arrival.It was two in the morning inside Lucky Joe’s Diner. Outside, the rain poured down hard against the greasy glass windows, turning the gritty streets of New Crestwood into a dark, muddy mess. Inside, the place smelled like burnt coffee and fried onions. I stood behind the counter in my torn grey hoodie and wet sneakers, holding a rag and scrubbing an old ketchup stain that had been there since last Tuesday.Then the front door slammed open, and three guys in heavy leather jackets walked in like they owned the plac












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