Mag-log inI’ll do anything," I whispered, desperate to save my dying father and our family legacy. "Anything?" Damian Thorne’s voice was as cold as the ice in his eyes. "Then marry me. One year. No strings. No feelings. Just a contract signed in blood." Aara Vance was a girl with a heart of gold and a life falling into ruin. Damian Thorne was the "Vulture of Wall Street," a man who destroyed her father’s business without a second thought. Now, to save the man she loves, Aara must enter a gilded cage with the man she hates. She expected a cold bed and a silent husband. She didn't expect the burning tension that sizzles between them or the dark secrets Damian hides behind his billionaire mask. In this game of power and passion, the rules are simple: Don't fall in love. But Damian Thorne doesn't play by the rules. And Aara is about to find out that the debt she owes... might cost her more than just her freedom.
view moreThe glittering lights of the ballroom felt like shards of glass in Aara’s eyes. The music, once elegant, now sounded like a funeral dirge. She stood on the balcony, the cold night air lashing at her bare back, her hands shaking so violently she nearly dropped her phone. The image of the hooded figure in her father’s hospital room burned into her brain.She didn't think. She didn't calculate. She turned and ran back into the ballroom, weaving through the silk-clad bodies and the scent of expensive perfume until she found the dark pillar of a man she had spent the last week hating.Damian was mid-sentence with a high-ranking senator, his face a mask of polite boredom. When Aara grabbed his arm, her nails digging into the expensive wool of his tuxedo, his entire body stiffened."Damian," she gasped, her voice a broken whisper. "Now. Please."The Senator raised an eyebrow, but Damian didn't wait for an explanation. He saw the sheer terror in Aara’s eyes the kind of look that couldn't be f
The silence in the penthouse over the next twenty-four hours was heavy, like the air before a terminal lightning strike. Damian didn't speak to her. He didn't even look at her. He moved through the vast, marble halls like a ghost of the man she had seen in the study, his presence marked only by the sharp click of his Italian leather shoes and the low, urgent murmurs of his phone calls.Aara was a prisoner in every sense of the word. A guard stood outside her bedroom door, and another sat in the kitchen whenever she went for water. She felt the walls of the "gilded cage" shrinking, the luxury of the silk robes now feeling like a shroud.At 6:00 PM, a team of stylists arrived. They worked in silence, their faces masks of professional indifference as they painted Aara’s face and pinned her hair into a style that felt too tight, pulling at her scalp. They dressed her in a gown of deep, midnight velvet. It was backless, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin, held up by nothi
The service elevator smelled of industrial cleaner and damp cardboard a stark, grounding contrast to the jasmine-scented air of the penthouse. Aara pressed her back against the cold metal wall, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She had slipped past the primary security detail by timing the shift change Damian’s head of security, Marcus, had mentioned during breakfast.She felt like a criminal in her own life. Every time the elevator chimed at a floor, she flinched, expecting Damian to step in, his eyes burning with the fury of a man whose "property" was escaping.But the doors opened to the rainy delivery bay, not the lobby. Aara pulled her trench coat tighter, the hood low over her eyes, and stepped out into the gray New York afternoon. The cold rain felt glorious. It was the first thing in three days that Damian Thorne didn't provide for her, and she drank in the damp air like it was oxygen after a long period of suffocation.The Willow Cafe was a hole-in-the-wal
The sunlight hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Thorne penthouse was aggressive. It didn't gently wake the city, it stripped away the soft, forgiving shadows of the night before, exposing every crack in the marble and every lie in Aara’s new life.Aara woke up entangled in charcoal silk sheets that felt like cool water against her skin. For a few seconds, she forgot where she was. She reached out for the familiar, lumpy mattress of her old apartment, expecting to smell the faint scent of printing ink and cheap coffee. Instead, she inhaled the sterile, expensive scent of jasmine and air filtration.Then, the memory of the night before hit her like a physical blow.Damian. The study. The photo of the old printing press.She remembered the way his guard had dropped, the way his eyes hadn't looked like ice, but like scorched earth. For a moment, she had seen the man behind the "Vulture." She had seen a boy who had been forced to grow claws to survive. She had felt a pull toward h






Welcome to GoodNovel world of fiction. If you like this novel, or you are an idealist hoping to explore a perfect world, and also want to become an original novel author online to increase income, you can join our family to read or create various types of books, such as romance novel, epic reading, werewolf novel, fantasy novel, history novel and so on. If you are a reader, high quality novels can be selected here. If you are an author, you can obtain more inspiration from others to create more brilliant works, what's more, your works on our platform will catch more attention and win more admiration from readers.