Lahat ng Kabanata ng Worship Me, Duncan: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

CHAPTER TWO—Duncan—The city lights spilled into my penthouse like liquid gold, casting long shadows that stretched and twisted with the rhythm of the night. Yet, no glow or glitter could match the fire burning inside me—the fire that Aphrodite ignited every time she stepped into my world.She was unlike any woman I’d ever known. More than just a name, more than just beauty—she was an enigma wrapped in silk and temptation, a goddess whose body and mind were locked in a struggle I couldn’t begin to understand.The first time she came back to me that night, it was like a storm breaking through a fragile calm. The door opened, and she was there—bold, fierce, irresistible. Her dress hugged her every curve like it was painted on, black silk shimmering in the dim light, falling just enough to tease and reveal. Her eyes held a fire that matched the wild hunger in mine, but behind that blaze, I caught a flicker of something else. Something darker. A shadow that didn’t belong to the goddess e

CHAPTER FOUR—Aphrodite—The knock comes fifteen minutes after I send the text.I don’t answer right away.I let him wait—just long enough to make him need me more. That’s part of the game. A second of silence that feels like rejection. I know what it does to a man like Duncan Moretti. It makes him ache.I smooth down the robe around my thighs. My skin is still flushed. Marked. Used.He can’t know.I check the mirror once, swipe a berry tint over my lips, brush my fingers under my eyes to smudge away the ghost of tears. I can still feel the bruising grip on my hips. The soreness between my thighs. The bite on my shoulder, hidden beneath silk.I don’t wear perfume tonight.Let him breathe in the truth and think it’s him.Another knock. Sharper this time.I open the door.And there he is.Tall, dark, dangerously clean-cut in a slate grey coat. His jaw clenches the moment he sees me. Those eyes—sharp enough to flay. Hungry enough to devour. He steps inside like he owns the air I’m breath

CHAPTER SIX—Duncan—I’ve spent my life mastering control.Of people. Of money. Of my name.And yet, here I am—haunted, sleepless, and gripping a phone like it might start whispering truths if I hold it tight enough.Aphrodite: I’m fine. Just need to rest. I’ll see you soon.Three hours ago. Still nothing since.The message is clean. Polished. Void of emotion.That’s what rattles me.Because the woman I held last night—the one who trembled beneath my mouth, cried out my name, curled her fingers into my chest like she didn’t want to be anywhere else—that woman didn’t say goodbye with a cold line of text.No. Something’s off.And I can’t stand it.I’ve dealt with women who’ve tried to play me before. Models. Actresses. Heiresses who thought their last name came with power. I saw through every one of them. Stripped them down to their ambition and left them craving what they couldn’t keep.But Aphrodite Sivan?She doesn’t crave anything.She makes me crave her.And I don’t know how the fu

CHAPTER EIGHT—Aphrodite—They don’t see what I see.They see Duncan Moretti—the billionaire with a cold gaze, razor-cut jawline, and a reputation as sharp as his suits. They see a man who bends cities to his will, whose name cracks across boardrooms like thunder. A man who doesn't kneel for anyone.But I do see it.The truth.The need.The cracks.And now… I want to split him wide open.Because power tastes better when it’s taken from someone who thought he’d never give it.---The morning after he worshiped me with his mouth and fell asleep like a sinner who found God, I rose first.I stood in the bathroom doorway watching him—bare chest rising and falling, arm wrapped around the pillow like he thought I’d still be there when he woke up.He looked peaceful.But that wasn’t the goal.I left without a word.No note. No perfume trail. No whisper of goodbye.Just absence.The first weapon.---I didn’t call.Didn’t text.Didn’t post.The silence itself became seductive. It made room for

CHAPTER TEN—Duncan—It starts with a whisper.A passing remark at a private dinner in London. I wasn’t listening, not really. My mind was still wrapped around the last text she sent.Aphrodite: Do you think of me when you’re with anyone else?The answer was yes, but there hadn’t been anyone else.Not since her.Not after her.There never will be.I didn’t answer. I was still crafting the perfect reply when a name I hadn’t heard in years floated across the room.“Kravitz. Yeah. The crypto guy? Aphrodite had him worshipping her like a goddamn priest. Man lost his mind. Sold his company. Moved to Bali. Paints nudes now. Hers. Only hers.”My head snapped toward the voice. But they’d already moved on.Laughed. Another name.“Carter Thorne, the gallerist. He bought her a penthouse in Paris. She lived in it for three weeks, then disappeared. The guy didn’t speak to anyone for months. He turned a wing of his gallery into an exhibit of her portraits. Called it: She Let Me Bleed.”I wanted to