LOGINThe restaurant was intimate, dimly lit, and impossibly expensive. Candles flickered in crystal holders, casting long shadows against the walls. Soft jazz played from a hidden speaker. I sat opposite Julian. Seraphina sat between us, effectively acting as a barrier, a physical representation of the line we weren't supposed to cross. "I’m just so excited about the menu," Seraphina said, buttering a roll. "The caterer suggested a lavender-infused honey glaze for the duck. What do you think, Julian?" Julian took a sip of his wine, his eyes fixed on me over the rim of the glass. "I trust your judgment, Seraphina." "And you, Elia
The crystal chandelier above the ballroom didn’t just sparkle; it glared. A million facets of light refracting down on the elite of the city, mocking me with their brilliance. I stood near the heavy velvet drapes, a glass of champagne sweating in my hand, watching the spectacle unfold.My stepsister, Seraphina, was in the center of it all. She wore white shocking for an engagement party, but she looked like a bride already. Her laugh, a delicate, bell-like sound, rang out over the murmurs of the crowd. And beside her stood Julian Vane.Julian Vane. The name alone was enough to make stock markets tremble. He was the country’s most eligible bachelor, a tech mogul with a face carved from marble and a reputation for ruthless efficiency. To the world, he was the perfect match. A savior for my family’s crumbling finances. A gentleman.I watched him lift Seraphina’s hand to his lips. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his tuxedo tailored to within an inch of its life, hugging broad shoulder
div]:bg-bg-000/50 [&_pre>div]:border-0.5 [&_pre>div]:border-border-400 [&_.ignore-pre-bg>div]:bg-transparent [&_.standard-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pl-2 [&_.standard-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,ul,ol,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pr-8 [&_.progressive-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pl-2 [&_.progressive-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,ul,ol,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pr-8"> _*]:min-w-0 gap-3 standard-markdown"> JULIAN P.O.V
ADRIANSix months after the scandal broke, I woke up in Julian's bed with sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows and his arm draped across my waist.The past six months had been intense. The statement we'd released had helped, but hadn't stopped the gossip entirely. I'd lost some clients. Gained others. Dealt with judgment and support in equal measure.But through it all, Julian had been there. Steady. Unwavering. Exactly what I'd needed.And now, today, we were finishing the tattoo.
JULIANThree days of silence from Adrian felt like three years.I'd respected his request for space. Hadn't called. Hadn't shown up at his studio. Had given him room to process.But I was going out of my mind.Thursday evening, I broke. I went to his studio, knowing he typically worked late on Thursdays, and knocked on the door.Adrian opened it, looking exhaust
ADRIANMy first client of the day was a regular. Sarah, a graphic designer who'd been coming to me for years. We were working on a sleeve of botanical illustrations.She didn't mention the photos. Didn't ask questions. Just made small talk while I worked, giving me the space to not think about Julian or the scandal or any of it.I was grateful for the normalcy. For the familiar routine of tattooing. For the meditative quality of the work.Until my second client arrived.
The word "Yes" was trapped in Leo’s throat, a lump of fear and something else, something hot and forbidden. His mouth was dry, his lips parted slightly as he struggled to draw breath. The world had shrunk to the six inches of space between him and Marcus, a space crackling with a tension so thick i
Marcus’s hands were like twin brands of fire on Leo’s shoulders, his grip firm and unyielding. He stood behind Leo, so close that Leo could feel the heat radiating from his body, could feel the soft brush of his shirt against his bare back. He was trapped, a moth caught in the flame of a terrifying
The salt-laced wind whipped at Min’s hair as he wrestled the key from the lock, the heavy, ornate brass feeling cool and foreign in his palm.He had to use his shoulder to shove the heavy oak door open against the gusts, stumbling into the cavernous silence of the beach house.The door sighed shut
Leo’s head throbbed in time with the windshield wipers, a dull, persistent rhythm that matched the bass-heavy music still vibrating in his bones from the club.He was drunk, but not pleasantly so. It was a sloppy, tired kind of drunk, the kind that left a sour taste in his mouth and a profound sens







