LOGINHello, lovely readers,If you're seeing this, then it means you've been part of this journey, and I just want to say thank you. The fact that you've read this far shows you're truly enjoying the novel, and that means the world to me. *heart*.I just wanted to gently remind you to please support the story by voting through gifts, sharing it, recommending it to others, and dropping your reviews. Every little bit of support helps more than you know, and it really encourages writers like me to keep going.Thank you once again for reading, supporting, and sticking with these characters through every twist and turn. Now get comfortable, fasten your seat belts, because things are only getting hotter from here *wink* *fire*.Enjoyyyyy.xoxo,bliss_writes
As Ethan made his escape, the fluorescent lights of the hallway flickered, casting long, sickly shadows against the walls. Every step away from Room 402 felt like he was leaving a piece of his dignity behind on that sterile floor."Ethan."The voice was like a whip crack. Ethan stopped, his hand inches from the elevator call button. He turned slowly to find Paul closing the distance with the giant, predatory strides of a man who had been waiting for this exact moment.When Paul reached him, the air between them turned frigid. There was no mistaking the raw, unfiltered hate filling Paul’s dark pupils—a deep-seated loathing that went beyond business or rivalry. But Ethan didn't flinch. He had been raised by Madison Wellman; he had been forged in a furnace of psychological warfare. Outside of his mother’s shadow, he was untouchable.He held Paul’s gaze, his chin lifted, urging the man to speak with a silent, defiant stare."You’re not welcome here, Ethan Wellman," Paul spoke, his voice s
The heavy glass doors of the Christoff Private Hospital slid open with a hiss, swallowing Ethan into a world of polished marble and the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic.The moment the vehicle had come to a halt, Chloe couldn't even wait for the engine to die. She’d scrambled out, speeding towards the entrance with a frantic energy that left Ethan staring at the empty passenger seat."She’s not even your mother," Ethan muttered under his breath, his fingers lingering on the steering wheel.When he finally stepped out, the almost-midnight breeze hit his face, offering a split second of relief that did nothing for the throbbing in his heart. His stomach was a mess of knots—a rumbling he knew had nothing to do with hunger. He was nervous. It was a raw, sickening sensation he’d never felt for any man before, but Tim Dorian had somehow become the exception to every rule Ethan lived by.He took a deep breath, smoothing the front of his jacket to comport himself, but the sharp, insistent r
Madison sat behind her heavy mahogany desk, the room bathed in a dim, predatory amber light. She took a long, deliberate drag of her cigarette, the cherry glowing bright before she tapped the ash into the gold palette tray with a sharp, rhythmic clink. Her eyes never left the shadows of the room, even as she addressed the man standing at attention before her."And you are sure about this?" she asked, her voice a low, dangerous purr.The man in the immaculate black suit adjusted his posture, his shadow stretching long across the Persian rug. "Yes, Ma’am, I am positive. Harrison’s movements have been erratic of late. He’s paranoid. He switches cars mid-route, doubles back on side streets, and always visits the most discreet, out-of-the-way locations. He’s alert—more like he knows he is being watched.""Hmm," Madison hummed, finally lowering her gaze to the scattered photographs on her desk. She picked one up with two fingers, eyeing the grainy image of Harrison’s plump figure. Beside hi
The drive back to the Wellman estate felt like navigating a funeral procession where Ethan was the only mourner. The silence of his luxury car was deafening, the leather seats offering no comfort for the hollow ache in his chest. Tim’s departure had left a void so sudden it felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the vehicle.He was right to let Tim go alone—logic told him that, but his heart felt like it had been physically detached and left behind at the hospital.As the wrought-iron gates of the estate loomed ahead, Ethan’s phone buzzed again in the console. MOM. He didn’t reach for it. He knew the script. It was a broken record of bankruptcy fears, collapsing stocks, and the inevitable "solution" that Madison had been carving out of his life: Anne Marie.The name felt like a shackle. Ethan’s mind drifted back, pulled by the gravity of a memory he had tried to bury. He remembered a society function from years ago—a room that smelled of expensive cigars and desperation, a room t
The steady, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing filling the silence of the room as Tim sat anchored to Olivia’s side. He didn't move, his fingers entwined with hers, his eyes never leaving her face. He was waiting for a sign—any sign that the woman who had built him was still in there.Finally, the silence broke. Olivia stirred, her head lolling slightly to the side as her eyes blinked open. They were cloudy, hooded with the heaviness of the morphine, and a small, pained groan vibrated in her throat."Hey... hey, easy," Tim whispered, his voice thick with a relief so sharp it hurt."Paul, get the doctor," Tim commanded, not once breaking eye contact with his mother. Paul hesitated for a fraction of a second, watching the raw vulnerability in Tim’s stance before turning and slipping out of the room.As the medication began to settle into a more manageable hum in her system, Olivia focused on Tim. A weak but genuine smile ghosted across her pale lips. She lifted her
The luxury sedan hummed into silence, the cooling engine the only sound in the predawn stillness of the Dorian estate. It was 4:00 AM. Timothy sat in the driver’s seat, his hands still gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were ghostly white.He should be ecstatic. The plan was working w
The evening was a symphony of flashing lights, the scent of expensive lilies, and the hushed, reverent whispers that only occur in the presence of true masterpieces. If Chloe were to be asked, this wasn't just a date; it was a coronation.Tim Dorian was the architect of the perfect night. Every wom
"What do you mean the business account is going bankrupt, Mr Hemist?"Madison’s roar ripped through the boardroom, the sound so sharp it seemed to vibrate the heavy crystal carafe in the centre of the table. The executives around her shivered, their postures shrinking under the weight of her wrath.
~Later That Afternoon~Madison’s perfectly manicured nails drummed restlessly against the edge of Harrison Fabian’s mahogany desk. Her eyes, sharp, stormy, and brimming with a fury she rarely allowed anyone to see, cut straight into the man before her.“What do you mean by we still don’t have acce







