All Chapters of Tainted Desires; Demons. Darkness. Damnation : Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Kane had been pacing the mansion for weeks, suffocating under the enforced confinement. His enemies were still out there—every single one of them aware that removing him meant destabilizing everything the family controlled. He knew it; Vincent knew it; hell, even Matteo’s eyes had been sharper, more watchful lately. But Kane’s patience had limits. So that night, he slipped past the front gates in a casual charcoal jacket, no entourage, no announcement. Just him and the city. His first stop wasn’t business. It was personal.The quiet street in the old quarter was dim, but Kane’s sharp eyes found the window immediately — her window. Castelle. She sat at her desk, hair tied back, bent over some paperwork. She looked the same and yet… older, wearier. He stayed in the shadows, leaning against the brick, watching her for long minutes. He didn’t knock. Didn’t want her to know he’d been there. A taller figure shifted in the darkness across the street. Not hostile — one of his shadows. He

Two months had passed since Castelle was exiled from Kane’s mansion—and from his life. A week since his severely infected wound had just healed. The command had been his, cold and final, though the echo of her absence lingered like smoke clinging to ruined walls. The mansion had grown silent in a way that mocked him. Her laughter, once timid, once growing bold enough to spark in shadowed halls, was gone. Her presence no longer tangled with his nights. And yet, it was in her absence that Kane realized he had not rid himself of her at all. She haunted him more now than when she had been curled against his chest.The men of the Salvatore syndicate saw the shift. Kane’s temper had sharpened into something volatile, a blade always unsheathed. One wrong look, one delayed order, and punishment came swift and merciless. His paranoia bled into every corner of their operations. He slept little, if at all. His mind twisted between rage at Castelle’s memory and suspicion that everyone around him—

The Abyss was a fortress, black stone rising from the cliffs like a scar on the land. For most men, it was home to power and terror, a seat of iron control. But for Kane Salvatore, in those days after Castelle’s exile, The Abyss was nothing but a hollow cage.Every night, he performed the same ritual. A glass of whiskey poured but left untouched. A file opened on his desk, its contents memorized before the ink had even dried. Reports. Locations. Incident logs. Subtle photographs caught from afar — Castelle at the bakery counter, dusted in flour; Castelle kneeling among children at the kindergarten, her laughter caught in still frames.She looked alive. She looked free. And the sight burned him.Fury and longing warred inside him like twin beasts tearing at the same heart. She should have been here, within his reach, within the walls he controlled. Instead, she chose exile, chose the illusion of independence. And yet she was still his — whether she acknowledged it or not. He saw the ac

Sleep had claimed her like a slow tide, dragging her under despite the tension that always lived beneath her skin. Every time she closed her eyes lately, Kane was there—uninvited but impossible to push away. This night, the craving she had been burying for weeks bled into her dreams, transforming them into something molten and dangerous. In the dream, she wasn’t in her apartment, nor anywhere she recognized. The room around her was dim, shadows sliding over stone walls slick with moisture, the air heavy and warm like the inside of a bathhouse. Somewhere behind her, water dripped in slow, steady beats, each drop echoing in the silence. She felt bare, utterly bare—even without looking down to confirm it. That vulnerability both thrilled and unnerved her, like she was waiting for something to happen and already knew who was coming. And then Kane was there. He didn’t enter. He materialized, like a shadow becoming flesh. His eyes caught the low amber light, predator’s eyes, raking si

The room reeked of damp stone, sweat, and iron. Somewhere in the rafters, water dripped in a steady rhythm, each drop echoing like a metronome for pain. Castelle was shackled in the center — wrists bound above her head, toes barely touching the ground, her body already bruised from the ambush.Warren circled her like a predator, his boots scraping against the concrete floor. His presence filled the room, thick and oppressive, the same presence she had once drowned beneath.“I remember,” he drawled, his voice a snake’s hiss, “how easily you used to break. A scream, a sob, and you’d fold like wet paper. You begged me for mercy, and I gave it — or I didn’t. And you learned to live by my hand.”He stopped before her, close enough that she could smell the rancid sweetness of his cologne. His smile was cruel. “Let’s see how much of that girl is left.”The first blow came sudden — his fist to her stomach. Pain exploded, ripping the breath from her lungs. Castelle bit down on a cry, her head