Mag-log inAll through the next day, Lisa tried her hardest to keep up the act of normalcy. She sat at her kitchen desk, pretending to focus on work emails, but her eyes kept drifting to the window facing Alex’s house. She scrubbed the floors until they shone, rearranged the furniture, and even sorted through old clothes. Anything to occupy her hands and her mind. But no matter what she did, her thoughts circled right back to him. The solid, warm weight of his bare chest, the rough gentleness of his fingers on her skin, the way his voice dropped when he said things that made her burn from the inside out.She felt torn apart, restless and jittery, heavy with guilt, yet buzzing with a reckless, forbidden need and excitement she hadn’t felt in long. It was a dangerous mix, and it only grew sharper as the hours passed. She changed clothes twice, first into jeans and a blouse, then into something lighter. Finally, she settled on a soft, flowing sundress that ended just above her knees. The fabric wa
Mark left at six sharp, as he always did when work called him away. Lisa rose with him, moving through the quiet house in the gray pre-dawn light. She brewed his coffee, strong and black, and set it on the kitchen counter while he stuffed his laptop and travel documents into his bag. He drank it standing, one hand resting lightly on her waist, then leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.“I’ll call when I land. Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep.The front door clicked shut, and suddenly the house felt too large, too empty. Lisa poured herself a second cup and sank into the chair across from where he’d stood only moments before. Seven days. A whole week without him. She sipped slowly, the warmth spreading through her chest but doing nothing to fill the hollow feeling growing inside.For months now, their lovemaking had become a routine — quick, mechanical, almost obligatory. He was always tired, always preoccupied with deals and deadlines, trea
This marriage was never written in hearts. A marriage with no love and affection but just duty and responsibility. It was written in ledgers and sealed with handshakes. Two family bonds and Grace was the link, the guarantee and the living proof of their alliance. To Alpesh, that made her less a wife and more a valuable asset despite her family wealth.For three days while he traveled out of town, the weight of that ownership lifted just enough for Grace to breathe. The house felt bigger, the air lighter, and the only person who looked at her and saw Grace — not the contract and not the alliance -- was Darren. Taken in as a boy after his parents died, raised under Alpesh’s roof, educated and given work, but always reminded: You owe us everything. You are family, but never equal.They met in the small, unused study tucked away in the east wing — a room with thick curtains, a lock that worked, and a door that never opened unless they wanted it to.The moment the key turned, all pretense
The days after that afternoon in the library were pure torture. Grace moved through the house like she was walking on thin ice and broken glasses. She smiled only when she had to and ate meals without saying much while acting like nothing had changed but everything felt different now. Every time she walked past Darren in the house or sat across from him at the dinner table the memory of his hands and his mouth and the way he made her feel burned bright in her head. Darren was better at keeping up appearances because he stayed in his lane and spoke only when spoken to and never let his gaze linger too long but Grace still noticed the way his jaw tightened whenever Alpesh put a hand on her shoulder or the way his eyes would flick to her lips for just a split second before looking away. There was a quiet coiled energy in his body like he was one wrong move away from snapping and it felt like standing too close to a fire that was warm and addictive and dangerous as hell. On the third mo
The Mehta house was big, old, and full of rules. To everyone outside, it looked like the perfect kinda family home. The rich, well respected and untouchable. But inside, it felt like a cage.Grace had been married to Alpesh for three years. It was never a love match. Their fathers had arranged it when she was just twenty, to them, it's a way to tie their families closer and keep their money and status safe. Alpesh was charming when he needed to be — good at smiling, good at talking to guests, good at looking like the perfect husband. But behind closed doors, he was cold and distant. He treated Grace like something he owned, not someone he cared about. They shared a bed, but rarely touched each other. And when they did, it was quick and empty. Just something he did to mark her as his and nothing more.And then there was Darren.Darren wasn’t family by blood, but he had grown up here. His parents died in a car crash when he was twelve, and Alpesh’s father took him in. He was raised alon
Months rolled forward in this very strange and jagged rhythm….outwardly polished and normal but secretly savage and consuming. To the rest of the world, Sloane dated freely and enjoyed her life without apology. Rook remained the definition of professional restraint. Watchful, distant, perfectly suited to his job. But behind closed doors, it was a war of bodies. He hated her lovers, hated their guts, hated the marks they left on her, but craved the leftovers. She loved her freedom, loved the attention and affection of different partners, but craved his roughness, his unfiltered hunger for her, his refusal to treat her like anything fragile or precious. Sometimes she deliberately stayed away. Spent whole nights, even entire weekends, at other people’s apartments. Jasper's house, anonymous hotel rooms far removed from Rook’s immediate surveillance. She wanted to feel separate, untouched by his suffocating shadow, to remind herself she wasn’t confined to whatever twisted, secret dynam







