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Chapter 18: A Thin Line - Allison's POV
Last Updated:
2025-01-03 21:53:00
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The words froze in the air. I watched her, waiting for a reaction, but she only stared at the floor, stunned. She hadn’t expected it—neither had I. My confession hit like a punch, and I couldn’t take it back. Every part of me screamed for her, but I’d crossed a line.She looked up, her hurt slicing through me. “You would’ve married me?”“Yeah, I would’ve,” I said, my voice steady. “But your father wouldn’t have let me near you. My reputation precedes me. I’m the ‘killer bodyguard’ of the Blade family, remember?”“Are you serious right now?” She asked, her disbelief evident.“Don’t make me say it again,” I murmured, my voice rough. “You have no idea how much I fucking hate seeing you with him.”I stepped forward, trying to close the distance, but she backed away. I couldn’t blame her. She scoffed. “Mr. Blade wouldn’t let me marry you either. You don’t have his surname.”I clenched my jaw, her words cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. “I don’t need his surname,” I fired back, starin
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The door rattled again. My heart slammed against my chest, panic flooding every corner of my mind. I was still on the table, my legs dangling off the edge. Since I wore a flared gown, it was easy to slide down. My feet hit the floor silently as I crouched, reaching for my panties on the ground."Are you sure they’re in here? It seems locked,” a voice outside the door muttered, but the urgency in his tone was undeniable. "What do we do?" I whispered frantically to Clayton, my voice barely a breath."Go hide behind there first," Clayton’s voice was sharp, panic in his eyes as he gripped my wrist and pointed to a row of messy stacks. Without thinking, I ran, ducking behind them, pressing my back against the pile. My hands shook as I peeked through a gap, wondering if someone had seen me—or worse, if Dontrell had sent someone.I ducked lower, clutching the fabric of my gown. Andrew’s silhouette loomed by the door as he turned the lock, the heavy sound of it unlocking echoing. Then, the d
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“Wake up,” Dontrell’s deep voice pierced through the haze of my sleep. His hand on my shoulder was firm but not rough, tapping me awake with a subtle sense of urgency.My eyes fluttered open, and I saw him. He was already dressed in a sharp black shirt tucked into tailored slacks, his tall frame towering over me. His expression was unreadable, but his dark brown eyes lingered on my face.“Good morning, my dove," he murmured, his voice warm and lingering. "You’re a sight to wake up to. Mornings don’t seem so cruel with you here."A blush crept up my cheeks at his words. “Do you ever rest? How come you’re already dressed and looking like you own the world at this hour?” I asked groggily.He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “There’s barely any rest for men like me, but one day, I’ll surprise you. We’ll take a break—just the two of us. No interruptions, no chaos.”I rolled my eyes, rubbing the sleep from them as I sat up. “I don’t see that day happening,” I said, my voice tinged with sa
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I stepped out of the elevator, my eyes immediately locking with Dontrell’s. The way he looked at me made my breath catch—his eyes swept over me, taking in the curves of my body as though he couldn’t quite believe I was really standing there. His gaze lingered for a moment, an intensity in it that I couldn’t quite place. There was something in his look that made me feel like he could take control of the entire world just by willing it. He quickly regained composure, as though lost in thought for a decade. Then, with a slight smile, he beckoned me to join him. “Come to me, darling,” he said, his voice a smooth command that had me moving toward him without thinking twice. I joined him, my heart fluttering in my chest as I walked to where his friends were. Andrew’s eyes locked on me, his grin widening as he sized me up.Dontrell couldn’t help but boast a little, “You see her, right? The most beautiful woman in the room. You’d think she'd be more of a curse, but she’s mine.” His voice wa
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My father didn’t flinch, only pressed his lips tight. A sharp exhale followed, frustration clear—as I couldn’t see the logic in his betrayal.“Why are you acting like you don’t get it?" he snapped. "The pressure, the stakes. The Blades aren't just anyone. They demand loyalty. A child would've sealed that. I agreed because it made sense—it’ll strengthen our bond with them. It’s not as monstrous as you think."His words slammed into me like a physical blow. ‘Not as monstrous as I think?’ He was justifying the expectation that I’d produce an heir like some broodmare. Fury swelled in my chest, threatening to explode.And then it did.Without thinking, I closed the distance between us in two strides. My hand rose, and before I could stop myself, a loud slap echoed through the room. The force of it reverberated through my hand. My father’s head snapped to the side, his cheek reddening as he stumbled slightly, his expression a mixture of shock and anger.But then the room shifted. The walls
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“You’ve got guts thinking you can touch her while I’m standing here.” Dontrell’s voice was razor-sharp, slicing through the room with a quiet menace.“Move." The masked man's voice sliced through the tension, cold and unrelenting.I couldn’t see—Dontrell’s frame was a fortress, and I dared not peek around it.“Tell my father if he wants something, he can come here himself. She’s not going anywhere.” Dontrell’s voice was a low growl, thick with authority.The room held its breath.The room held its breath as footsteps echoed, heavy and deliberate. I heard the intruder advancing closer. My pulse thundered.Nadeem, who had been standing by my side, moved forward, ready to intercept. But before he could take another step, Dontrell’s arm shot out like a steel barrier, halting him."This isn’t your fight, Nadeem," Dontrell said, his voice low and commanding. "I’ll handle this." The authority in his tone left no room for argument. Nadeem froze, his muscles taut, then reluctantly stepped bac
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She didn’t understand it and maybe she didn’t need to.Because she still saw the world in soft, redeemable tones. Even after what my father did. What Dontrell did. What I did.And maybe that’s why I fought so hard to deserve her. Because someone like her doesn’t end up in a life like mine by accident. She was chosen by fate—or cursed by it. Either way, I knew I’d burn down every version of this world before I let it take her from me again.I looked at my phone. The hospital report came in.Same condition. No progress. The nurses said Dontrell hadn’t spoken since; instead, he started having seizures often and often, and yet… I still sent money. Still made sure his room had sunlight. That his sheets were clean. That the men standing outside his door reported only to me.Because he was my brother.And that still meant something.I heard her voice behind me. “Again?”God, that voice. The way she could make one word feel like a thousand. She’d seen the worst of me—every bloodstain, every b
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I watched Clayton from across the rooftop garden as the breeze rustled the edges of his open shirt. The golden sunset flared behind him, but he didn’t look up. His gaze hovered on his phone, thumb paused over the screen, like whatever he was reading had pulled him somewhere far from me.“Again?” I asked, pitching my voice to be loud enough.He looked up slowly, locking eyes with me. That same determined gaze he wore when things got hard. When his emotions ran too deep to show.“Yes,” he said, voice low, firm. “I have to do it.”I crossed the space between us, barefoot, heart steady. “But you know you don’t owe him anything.”Clayton’s lips curved, soft and sad. “He’s my brother.”My heart ached for the way he said it. Not because it was a lie, but because it was true.Five years since the trial, since the feds shattered Dontrell’s empire. Clayton hadn’t run from the damage—he stood in it. Quietly, fiercely, with no cameras watching.He bought back every property the feds didn’t bury.
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I peeled off his suit jacket slowly, my fingers trailing over the dark silk. The tag glinted on the inside of his chest—*Godfather.* A title barely a few hours old, still hot from the Circle’s overnight meeting where he had been crowned.We were supposed to be at the Victory Gala right now—celebrating his hotel expansion in partnership with my new dance company. But we couldn’t wait—his mouth claimed mine the second the car door shut and his men stepped down. Instead of champagne and niceties, we were tangled up in the back seat of his car—completely unable to keep our hands off each other.His men stood like statues—guns, suits, dead stares. No one came close.Our mouths were locked. The windows fogged as we kissed like starved souls. His lips, greedy and sweet, erased the ruthless man crowned by the ‘CIRCLE’ just hours ago.“Congratulations, Godfather Clayton,” I whispered against his lips.He chuckled, dark and low, then kissed me harder. “Thank you, my queen.”I dragged my hand
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"What are you doing here?" Clayton's voice cut through the silence. He stepped inside, his figure shadowing the doorway. "Why couldn't you stay in the living room downstairs, or at least stay in the fucking room? Why come here?"I didn’t flinch. I’d heard that bark before. Clayton Blade had always been a man of biting words. I stood there, tears wet on my face, paper clenched in my hand.I ignored his harsh words and the sting and asked, my voice trembling, "Did you mean this?" I held out the paper. "Did you mean everything you wrote here?”His jaw clenched, a muscle working beneath the skin. For a moment, I thought he might ignore me, walk away, or tell me I was being foolish. But instead, he scoffed and muttered, "You shouldn't be here.”That was all. He didn’t give me an answer. Just that damn, dismissive line—like none of it mattered. He wasn’t even looking at the paper. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking somewhere past me, somewhere I couldn’t follow.I couldn’t stand there
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I expected unease walking into this house again.The Blade mansion was eerily quiet, but it no longer frightened me. It had once been a fortress of fear, soaked in pain. With Mr. Blade gone, rotting in prison for even just a few months, breathing here felt a little easier.The heaviness that once clung to the estate had loosened.Clayton’s men stood like statues by his bedroom door, nodding as I walked past and went In. They didn’t question me. They didn’t need to. I belonged here once—even if only at night, in stolen moments, wearing guilt like perfume.The moment I entered, his scent hit me —musk, spice, leather. Familiar, maddening—uniquely him. My eyes scanned the room—the chair by the fireplace, the silk sheets, the broken lamp, the window chair. The whiskey decanter, heavy curtains, the bed—all the same.My chest tightened. I remembered the fortnight—when he hurt, took, and claimed me with blood.But I blinked it away.He wasn’t that man anymore—not in the end. Not lately. Clay
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The moment the car door shut, the fake smile I wore at that goddamn charity dinner melted off like wax. My jaw clenched. I sighed, the night’s weight pressing down on me.I didn’t bother acknowledging my driver. He knew better than to speak when I was like this.I exhaled sharply and rolled my neck. The suit jacket was the first thing to go, then the cufflinks—ripped off and tossed beside me. Yanked my collar open just to breathe. The air felt thick—or maybe it was just me, choking on memories.Allison.God, her name still felt like a bruise on my chest.Told myself the damn event would distract me. But it never works. Not with her.I leaned back and closed my eyes. How did I get here? From hating her with every fibre in my body… to falling so deep I couldn’t see my way out?She used to sneak out of her ex-husband’s mansion—my brother’s house. She’d arrive in designer clothes and leave wearing my scent. Every visit started with a plan—some draft to catch Dontrell, some excuse to meet—
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“Fuck, that’s tight,” Reed groaned, thrusting in, his veiny hands spreading my thighs wide.The hotel room smelt like expensive cologne, clean sheets, and sex. Our brunch date was long forgotten.“Yeah, just like that,” my moans echoed off the suite’s walls. I clawed at his back, legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust deep and smooth.Classic missionary. All on display. He kissed my jaw, strokes slow but hard, bouncing me into the bed.He slapped my breasts and drove in deep, pausing as I clenched before resuming with a wild rhythm. I moaned in response, throwing my head back like I meant it, nails raking down his back. He was giving it to me well—deep strokes, rough rhythm, the kind of pounding that made the bed slam against the wall. Reed had the stamina and the moves. His sinful voice matched the kisses trailing my breasts, sucking hard as his hips slammed into me.“You feel me, baby? You feel all this dick?” He whispered, lips brushing my titties.“Uh-huh,” I lied, grinding u
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 179: Allison’s POV: wild thoughts.
Three months ago, my name blazed across headlines like blood on silk.“Allison Blade Finalises Divorce from Mafia Kingpin Dontrell Blade.”“Mafia Wife Walks Away: Allison Blade Now Legally Single.”“From Blackmail to Freedom—Inside the Fall of a Criminal Empire’s Queen.”“Single and Free: Allison Blade Cuts Ties with Comatose Crime Lord”I didn’t need to read the articles — didn’t need to. I’d lived it.The court declared Dontrell unfit for trial—permanently incapacitated, doctors said—vegetative. Alive, but unreachable. A man who once ruled with an iron grip now lay breathless under a sterile hospital light, surrounded by machines that did his living for him.Filing for divorce should’ve felt like a betrayal. Instead, it felt sweet.The day I filed, I didn’t cry. I walked into the courthouse, signed the petition, and told the clerk I was ready to leave hell behind. Two weeks later, a judge reviewed my case. They assigned Dontrell a guardian ad litem—some lawyer who never looked me
The Mafia’s Angel Ordeal. Chapter 178: Dontrell’s POV: They’ll All Burn.
I left my father’s house ten years ago and never looked back—even now, confined to a wheelchair, voiceless, motionless. I lived fully.My name would echo through generations— how I played my father and almost won if Celine's jealousy over my cover marriage to Allison hadn't ruined it.I left the house with nothing but a hunger for power—and I swore to claim it, whatever the cost. Father’s ways were too constricting. His empire was built on loyalty, fear, and respect, and I wanted it differently. I wanted more. I wanted total control. It wasn’t just the mansion, the power, or the empire I’d grown up with—it was the respect I was owed. I was the firstborn son, the one who was supposed to carry on his name. But instead, I was just another puppet in a game where he pulled the strings. I do all the work, and he gets all the glory. He leashed me and fed me scraps while he ruled as godfather. But I wasn’t some obedient little dog—that was Clayton. I envisioned power without him—without an
