DIANAI’m screwed. I lost all my senses. Lying in bed, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. My body ached—a sinful reminder of last night’s reckless decision. I was supposed to despise this man, resist him, yet here I was, watching him, unable to look away. Ruther Yanno Wrevco. My husband. The man who shattered my resolve and made me forget who I was. His broad, sculpted back glistened under the morning light, every muscle carved to perfection as if God himself had taken his time creating him. I should be furious, should regret everything. But instead, my gaze traced every inch of him, memorizing the way he moved, the way he owned every space he stood in. Then, he turned. My breath hitched. His eyes, dark and unreadable, pinned me to the bed, making me feel exposed despite the sheets wrapped around me. “Take a rest, Diana,” he said, his voice low, smooth, almost gentle. “I won’t like it if something happens to you.” My fingers curled into the fabric beneath
Magbasa pa
Mag-log in
