Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 171 - Chapitre 180

Chapter 170. Drystan stepped into the room with a tray in one hand—warm food, fresh juice, and a folded napkin. His black pant hung low on his hips. His chest was bare, still damp from the shower he’d taken in the next room. Water clung to his skin, trickling past the curve of his collarbone, down to the sharp lines of his abdomen. The scent of his body wash—clean, woodsy, masculine—still lingered in the air.He had scrubbed himself hard. Until every trace of Lowel’s blood was gone. He didn’t want to bring that filth near her.Near his queen. His Rosealba.He set the tray gently on the small table by the window, then turned back to the bed.His queen. His heart beat. She was there, curled up beneath the duvet, soft and small in one of his t-shirts. It swallowed her frame, making her look even more delicate. Her hair—a golden mess of strands—spilled over the pillow. Her lashes rested peacefully against her cheeks. She was fast asleep. Breathing slow. Safe.Drystan walked to her sid

Chapter 172. The hum of quiet activity surrounded them as Mr. Leo led them through the sleek, polished halls of the private airline’s headquarters. The place practically gleamed with luxury—every inch of it designed with the finest materials and attention to detail. They passed the VIP lounge, the soft murmur of business deals and quiet laughter filling the air. It was a place where the world’s elite would come to rest before their next flight, sipping champagne in velvet chairs, their every need catered to.“Over here, Miss Rosealba, you’ll see the VIP lounge,” Mr. Leo said, motioning toward the wide, open space. The velvet seats and marble floors reflected the rich, soft lighting. “Only the highest profile clients ever make use of this area. It’s exclusive to those who fly privately with us.”Rosealba’s heart thudded in her chest as she took it all in. The hangars, large enough to house multiple jets, were immaculate, the glass walls offering a clear view of the private aircrafts p

Chapter 174. Rosealba’s body trembled in his arms, still clenching around nothing as his fingers eased their pace. She sagged against him, eyes glazed, lips parted. “Drystan…” she whispered, still breathless. “I can’t—I just came, I—” Drystan’s lips curled into a slow predatory smile. “You think I’m finished with you?” he growled softly, voice soaked in hunger. “Oh sunshine. I am not even an inch close to starting with you. Seconds ago I had touched you….” He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at the mess between her thighs. He licked his lips—slow and deliberate. “Now I get to taste it.” Roselba's heart thundered, taste her? Here? In this office. What if the man walked in unannounced. “Wait—” she gasped, but she was already being lifted. In one smooth motion, he gripped her by the waist and hoisted her onto the desk before her. Her dress bunched up around her hips as he shoved her legs open, spreading her wide without a hint of hesitation. Her breath hitched.

Chapter 176. The room was quiet. Dimly lit, heavy with silence. The candles burned low, their flames soft and slow, casting long shadows across the velvet carpet. Stephanie sat still, her back straight against the high-backed chair. One hand rested on the table, the other curled around an empty glass. Her face was calm, expression unreadable, as if she were waiting for something. Then came the knock. One, two—measured and cautious. She didn’t speak. Just tilted her chin. The door opened with a soft creak. A man stepped in. Dressed in black, dirt on his boots, blood crusting one side of his shirt. His face looked pale. Eyes hollow. He walked with a slight limp. He stopped a few steps in and bowed low, his head bent deep—not just in respect, but in pain. He looked like someone who had seen too much. “My lady,” he murmured. Stephanie didn’t move. “Speak.” He swallowed. His jaw tensed. His lips parted, but no words came out. He hesitated. Her eyes narrowed, slow and sharp. No wor

Chapter 178.Drystan walked into the bar, shirtless. He reached for a bottle and poured himself a soft wine, then made his way through the living room. He stepped out onto the terrace—a wide, open space with soft lighting, a long table, and a pool in the middle, complete with a quiet water fountain.His eyes landed on the table—set beautifully, just as he had asked. Every dish is arranged, every glass in place. He had ordered it earlier, hoping to spend a quiet evening with Rosealba when they got home.But she had been tired.She had given him her body and all her energy today. He couldn’t ask for more. Not tonight.He took another slow sip of wine, the glass sitting gently in his hand. Then he reached into the pocket of his trousers, pulled out his phone, and dialed Hazel.“Come to the terrace,” he said, voice calm. No greeting. No explanation.A few moments later, Hazel stepped outside. Her eyes darted around the space, landing on the table he stood near.Drystan didn’t turn to look