LOGINDiana had it all planned–– the perfect wedding, the dream house, the future she'd always wanted with the man she loved. But nothing could prepare her for the betrayal that shattered her world… Brian married her sister instead. Heartbroken and humiliated, Diana makes a choice she can't even remember. She married Aaron Miles, her boss's boss and one of the most powerful men in the city. Was this a fresh start? Or another trap?
View MoreThe room tilts. The air feels too heavy, like it’s pressing me down into the polished floor. I shake my head, words stumbling out before I can catch them.“No. I won’t do this.”Aaron doesn’t blink. He stands like stone, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lightly on the back of the chair across from me. Calm. Always calm. That’s what makes it unbearable.The man in the gray suit sets his briefcase on the desk, clicks it open with neat, efficient snaps. Papers gleam inside, crisp white against the leather. Legal. Binding. My stomach knots.I take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go. The door is behind him. His people are everywhere in this house. Even the walls feel like they belong to him.“You can’t make me sign,” I say, my voice trembling but louder now, trying to convince myself as much as him.Aaron’s eyes hold mine. Cool. Dark. Dangerous. “I don’t need to make you.”He pulls the chair back, slow, deliberate, like he’s inviting me to sit. No—commanding me to.“I’m not yo
The wheels touch down softer than I expect, like the earth itself makes room for him. The jet glides, slows, and when I look out the window, it’s not a city or a commercial runway. It’s green. Endless trees. A private strip carved out of nowhere.My chest tightens. I press my palm against the glass, half expecting to see fences or guards, something obvious. Instead, I see perfection. A stretch of asphalt ending in an arched driveway. Beyond it, iron gates so tall they could cage the sky.This isn’t just an arrival. It’s a trap.The engines hum down. The flight attendant moves with her rehearsed grace, her eyes still avoiding mine. Aaron stands first, not even glancing at me as he buttons his jacket. Black suit, crisp white shirt, no tie. He doesn’t need a tie. His authority is stitched into every move he makes.“Get up,” he says quietly.I don’t. For a moment, I sink into the leather seat, clutching the armrest like a lifeline. If I stay here, maybe this isn’t real.His shadow falls o
The smell hits me before the sight does—something rich and buttery, the kind of scent that doesn’t belong on a jet, but I wouldn't know because this is my first time in one. The scent curls through the cabin, clings to the leather, tempts my stomach in ways I don’t want to admit. I press my hands flat against my knees, trying not to notice.Because if I notice, it means I’m playing along.If I eat again, it means I’m letting him win.The flight attendant moves like a ghost, sliding a tray onto the table between us. Polished silverware. White linen napkin. Two plates under domes, steam escaping at the edges. Like this is a restaurant, not a prison in the sky.I don’t touch mine.Aaron doesn’t wait. He lifts the dome from his plate, revealing something simple but decadent—steak, seared just right, juices glistening. He slices into it with the quiet precision of a man who doesn’t need to prove anything.“Eat,” he says without looking up.My jaw locks. “Stop ordering me around.”Finally,
The fork feels heavier than it should. My hand shakes as I set it down on the plate, and that’s when I hear it—the sound I’ve been dreading. Slow, steady footsteps from the back of the jet. The kind of sound that makes the air go still, like even the engines know to quiet down.He’s been here the whole time. Watching behind the camera. Waiting.I turn in my seat, and there he is. Aaron Miles.No tuxedo this time—Just him, dressed down in a black shirt, sleeves rolled, collar open, as if this private jet is just his living room and I’m trespassing. Somehow that makes it worse. Too intimate. Too casual. Dangerous in the way men who don’t have to try are dangerous.“You ate,” he says, voice low, like it was his command I followed, not the flight attendant’s polite insistence. His eyes flick to the plate, then to me, sharp as knives. “Good girl.”The words scrape across my skin. I shove the plate away. “Don’t talk to me like that… Sir.”My voice comes out thinner than I want.Aaron doesn’












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