Semua Bab Ten Sinful Commandments : Bab 51 - Bab 60

Lydia had barely slipped into Damian’s silk shirt—oversized, smelling like sex and his cologne—when the knock came.It wasn’t a polite knock.It was commanding.Sharp. Three deliberate raps.Damian stilled.Lydia froze halfway across the suite, blood running cold despite the warmth still humming between her thighs. Damian’s expression shifted—masking everything at once. Not fear. Worse. Recognition.He didn’t reach for a weapon, didn’t check the peephole. He just opened the door.And standing there, with legs for days, a dangerously red pout, and a black leather trench coat draped over naked skin like sin herself—Was a woman Lydia had never seen before.“Hello, Damian.”Her voice was smoky, sultry, and disturbingly casual.Then her eyes flicked to Lydia. “Oh. You didn’t tell me you were sharing now.”Lydia’s spine stiffened. “Who the hell are you?”The woman stepped inside without invitation, her heels clicking on the floor like a countdown. “Vivienne sends her regards,” she said

Lydia’s breath caught as she stepped past the threshold of the cellar. The air was thick with damp stone and the kind of silence that felt… preserved. Her flashlight trembled in her hand, casting uneven shadows on the stone walls.There was a drawer unit pushed against the far wall — elegant, antique, and utterly out of place.She reached it. Tugged at the top drawer.Locked.Of course.But her fingers brushed something beneath the bottom panel — a small hidden latch. With a soft click, the drawer loosened. Inside was a stack of envelopes, neatly bound in red string. Her name wasn’t on them. But Vivienne’s was.Vivienne Cross.Lydia’s pulse quickened. These weren’t letters. They were records — reports, photos, invoices. And then — a note handwritten in smooth black ink: She knows too much. Silence is no longer optional.Suddenly, the basement light above flickered on.She froze.“Looking for something, sweetheart?”Damian’s voice, low and dangerous, spilled down the stairs like smoke.

The evening air was thick with tension, heavy enough to suffocate. Lydia’s thoughts swirled as she paced Damian’s penthouse, the city lights below like distant fires flickering, far removed from the storm brewing inside these walls.Damian watched her from the sofa, his gaze dark, unreadable. The photo of Luca lay between them, a silent accusation.“You’re playing with fire,” Lydia said, voice low, every syllable dripping with both challenge and warning. “If he’s really out there, watching… then we’re already targets.”Damian stood, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. He closed the distance between them, closing the gap with a hand at her waist, pulling her close.“And you’re dangerous enough to want to burn with me.”Her breath hitched as his fingers slid beneath her blouse, tracing the curve of her ribs like he was memorizing her again—each touch a promise, each kiss a secret.“Tell me,” she demanded, voice husky, “what are you not telling me? What is he capable of?”He h

Lydia’s breath caught in her throat as Damian’s lips brushed over her spine, slow and reverent, like he was savoring a forbidden fruit he couldn’t resist tasting again. Her wrists were bound above her head with a silken scarf that smelled like him—dark spice and danger—and her body was trembling, not from fear, but from the wicked thrill of being completely his.“I told you, Lydia,” he whispered against her neck, voice a smoky caress. “There’s no turning back once you open the cellar of secrets. You’ll either become mine… or ruin us both.”Her heartbeat drummed like a warning, but she arched into him anyway, needing his touch more than her next breath. “Then ruin me,” she said, breathless. “If that’s what it takes.”He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “You say that now. But you haven’t seen what’s buried yet.”“I’ve seen enough,” she whispered, heat burning in her core as his fingers slipped beneath her silk dress. “And I want more.”He groaned, low and primal, before

The storm outside had passed.But inside the estate, the air still dripped with the tension of what had just happened on that desk — the kind that didn’t fade with a cold shower or a night of sleep.Lydia lay sprawled on Damian’s bed, tangled in black silk sheets, still bare, still raw.Her thighs ached.Her lips were swollen.And her heart? A mess.The man she’d just let split her open with pleasure was the same man who kept secrets that could ruin everything. And yet…She still wanted more.The door creaked.She didn’t flinch — didn’t even bother to cover herself.Damian stood there with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a dark, unreadable look on his face.“You should hate me,” he said, voice husky, low.“I should,” she murmured, trailing a finger down her belly, “but apparently, I like playing with fire.”He walked to the edge of the bed and looked down at her. “You don’t want honesty, Lydia.”“I want your worst,” she whispered. “I want the version of you that stops pretending.”