LOGINARIA
His voice is dark velvet. Smooth and rich and absolutely commanding.
The blonde pauses, looking up in confusion. But Dante’s gaze never wavers from mine.
“Leave us.” He ordered
The blonde protests. “But...”
One look from those ice-blue eyes and she scrambles to her feet, straightening her dress and fleeing without another word.
Dante stands in one fluid motion. He’s even taller than I thought. At least six-five. He towers over me as he closes the distance between us, and I suddenly understand why people describe him as dangerous.
He adjusts himself with zero shame, buttons his pants, and stalks toward me like I’m something he’s decided to acquire.
“You wanted to see me, Miss Sinclair?”
My mouth has gone completely dry.
“How do you know my name?”
His lips curve into something that’s not quite a smile. “I know everything about you, Aria. Your promotion to Senior Director. Your engagement to Marcus Kane. Your twin sister, Vivienne.”
The room tilts again. “How...”
“And I know exactly what happened two hours ago in Marcus’s apartment.”
The ground drops out from under me.
He knows. Dante Ashford knows that I walked in on my fiancé fucking my sister. Knows about the betrayal, the humiliation, everything.
“Marcus works for me,” he continues, circling me slowly. “And I know he’s been embezzling from my company while fucking your twin sister.”
“Why...” I have to clear my throat. “Why are you telling me this?”
He stops directly in front of me, so close I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. This close, I can smell his cologne that screams “expensive” and “intoxicating” in different languages.
“Because you came here to drown your sorrows, Aria. And I’m going to tell you that won’t work.”
“Then what will?”
“Revenge.”
The word hangs between us like a promise.
Or a threat.
“What are you talking about?”
His hand comes up, and I think he’s going to touch me. Instead, he traces the air a breath away from my jaw, not quite making contact but close enough that I feel the heat of his skin.
“Marry me,” he says. “Be my wife. And I’ll give you everything you need to destroy them in front of everyone who matters.”
I must be drunker than I thought. “You’re insane.”
“Say yes, Aria.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“You know enough.” He steps even closer, and now I’m backed against the railing overlooking the bar below. “You know I have the power to crush Marcus’s career. The influence to turn your sister into a social pariah. The resources to make sure they spend the rest of their lives regretting what they did to you.”
His words sink into my skin like poison. Sweet, tempting poison.
“Why would you do this?”
For a moment, something flickers in those cold eyes. Something almost like heat.
“Because I want you,” he says simply. “And I always get what I want.”
He’s circling me again, and I feel like prey being stalked.
“We’ll have the wedding of the century,” he continues. “In three weeks. Marcus and Vivienne will be there, forced to watch you marry a billionaire. Watch you become untouchable. Watch you win.”
Three weeks. He’s talking about marrying a stranger in three weeks.
“This is crazy,” I whisper.
“Then walk away.” His voice is silk and steel. “Go home. Cry into your pillow and let them win. Let Marcus keep your promotion and your dignity. While Vivienne celebrates destroying you.”
Every word is a knife, expertly placed.
“Or...” He stops in front of me again. “Stay. Say yes. Take what you’re owed.”
I should walk away and run away from this dangerous man with his dangerous offer.
But I’m so tired of being good and responsible and being the twin who always does the right thing and gets punished for it.
Something breaks open inside me. Something reckless and desperate and done with being a victim.
“I have one condition,” I hear myself say.
His eyebrow raises. “Name it.”
The words come out before I can stop them. Before I can think. Before I can remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
“Take my virginity. Tonight. Right now. I don’t want it anymore.”
Dante Ashford’s eyes flare with heat that makes my entire body ignite.
“I don’t want them to have that victory,” I continue, my voice stronger now. “I don’t want Marcus to be my first. I don’t want to give him anything else. If we’re doing this...if I’m saying yes to your insane plan...then we start now, before I regret it tomorrow.”
For a long moment, he just stares at me. Then his hand finally makes contact, gripping my jaw with firm, possessive fingers.
“You’re sure about this, Aria?”
No. I’m not sure about anything.
But I’m done being careful.
“I’m sure.”
His thumb brushes my bottom lip. “Understand something. I don’t make love. I fuck. I’m dominant. Demanding. It will be on my terms, my way. And I won’t be gentle with you.”
My breath catches. “Then don’t be gentle.”
“You’ll regret this.”
Maybe. Probably.
But right now, the only thing I regret is three years wasted on a man who never loved me.
“I already regret waiting,” I tell him. “Take me upstairs.”
Dante’s eyes go absolutely dark. He releases my jaw and steps back, pulling out his phone. A quick text, and then he’s extending his hand to me.
“Safe word is daddy,” he says. “Use it if you need to stop. Do you understand?”
I place my hand in his. His fingers close around mine, warm and strong and completely in control.
“I understand.”
“Good.” He pulls me toward a private elevator I hadn’t noticed. “Because once we start this, Aria, there’s no going back. You’ll be mine. In every way.”
The elevator doors close behind us.
And I realize I just made a deal with the devil.
But maybe that’s exactly what I need. I need someone ruthless enough to burn my enemies to ash.
Maybe I need to be claimed by someone who sees me not as perfect, responsible Aria, but as something worth possessing.
The elevator rises toward his penthouse.
DANTELiam’s face fills my computer screen, and he looks about as amused as I expected.“You got married,” he says flatly.“Engaged,” I correct. “The wedding is in three weeks.”“To Aria Sinclair. Marcus Kane’s fiancée. Who you just meet yesterday?“Last night, technically.” “And she is his former fiancée,” I correct. “She’s mine now.”“Jesus Christ, Dante.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Even for you, this is insane. What the fuck are you doing? The man works for you.”I lean back in my chair, completely calm. “I am going to marry her. You’ve been telling me
ARIA“Miss Sinclair, left hand on the railing, please. We want to showcase the ring.”I place my hand where directed. The diamond catches the morning sun, throwing prisms of light.“Beautiful,” the photographer murmurs, clicking away. “Now, Mr. Ashford, if you could lean in slightly, like you’re whispering something to her...”Dante’s breath is warm against my ear as he leans close. To anyone watching, it looks intimate and romantic.“Smile, fiancée,” he murmurs, his voice is low enough that only I can hear. “Very soon, Marcus Kane will be seeing these photos. I want him to choke on his morning coffee.”The vindictive pleasure in his words makes me smil
ARIAMarcus's ring sits discarded on the nightstand... cheap, tacky, and meaningless.And I realize that in less than twelve hours, I've gone from broken and destroyed to engaged to one of the most powerful men in New York.My phone buzzes in my purse across the room. It is probably Paige. Or worse, Vivienne, gloating about her victory.I should get up. Get dressed and start this new, surreal chapter of my life.But for just a moment, I let myself sit here in the quiet.Processing what I've done.What I've committed to.I trace the edge of Dante's grandmother's ring with my thumb. The metal is warm on my skin, the diamond impossibly perfect."Mine now," Dante had said last night when he was inside me, making me come apart.
ARIAI wake to unfamiliar silk sheets against my bare skin and the disorienting realization that I'm not in my bed.I am hurting in places I didn’t know could hurt.Everything between my thighs feels raw and swollen, like I’ve been split open and put back together. My wrists have faint red rings from the silk ties, and when I shift, the sheets slide over skin that’s tender everywhere he touched, licked, and bit. The ache is proof. Proof that last night actually happened. Proof that I let Dante Ashford (no, begged Dante Ashford) take the one thing I’d saved for the man I thought I was going to marry.The man who was fucking my twin sister yesterday.I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, but the images are still there: Marcus’s back muscles flexing, Vivienne’s smug little moan when she saw me in the doorw
ARIADante’s hand moves up from my stomach, cupping my breast. His thumb brushes over my nipple, and I gasp at the contact.“Sensitive,” he notes, doing it again. Watching my reaction with clinical interest. “Good.”He leans down and takes my nipple into his mouth.The sensation shoots straight between my legs. I arch into him, tugging against the restraints without meaning to.“Dante...”“Shh.” He switches to my other breast, lavishing it with the same attention. His teeth graze the sensitive peak, and I cry out. “I want to hear every sound. Don’t hold back.”His mouth trails lower. Kissing down my stomach, my hipbones, and the inside of my thighs. Everywhere except where I’m aching for him.“Please,” I hear myself whimper.“Please, what?”“Touch me.”“I am touching you.” He’s being deliberately obtuse, the bastard. His fingers trace patterns on my inner thigh, so close but not close enough.“You know what I mean.”“Say it, Aria. Tell me exactly what you want.”My face burns. I’ve ne
ARIAThe elevator ride feels both endless and too short.Dante hasn’t released my hand. His thumb traces absent patterns on my wrist, right over my racing pulse. He has to feel how fast my heart is beating. And know how I’m terrified and reckless and possibly making the biggest mistake of my life.But he doesn’t say anything. Just watches me with those ice-blue eyes that seem to see everything I’m trying to hide.The elevator opens directly into his penthouse.Of course it does. Because Dante Ashford owns the entire top floor.The space is massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the Manhattan skyline, glittering against the night. Everything is modern, expensive, and cold. Black leather, chrome fixtures, and abstract art that probably costs more than my yearly salary.It looks exactly like the kind of place a ruthless billionaire would live.“Last chance to walk away,” Dante says, releasing my hand.I should take it, turn back, press that elevator button, and escape back to my







