All Chapters of Raw Pleasures: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

THIRD PERSON POVThe rain had turned the city into a mirror, every streetlight bleeding gold into the puddles. In the wide circular drive of the Lancaster mansion, the Bentley waited, a beast at rest. Rowan Hale sat behind the wheel, his posture neat, his gaze fixed on the reflection of the double doors through the rain-slick glass.He told himself not to look. He always did. But the second those doors opened, the rule dissolved.Seraphina Lancaster moved through the rain like a secret the sky itself wanted to keep. The soft sweep of her emerald dress clung to her body as she stepped into view, one slender hand balancing an umbrella, the other brushing her hair back. Even from where he sat, Rowan could feel the hum of her presence — the kind that filled a room before she even entered it.She slid into the back seat, the soft scent of jasmine and something warmer following her. It wrapped around him, filled the small space between them.“Good morning, Mrs. Lancaster,” he said quietly.

THIRD PERSON POVParis shimmered beneath the evening sky, a thousand city lights glinting off the river like liquid gold. From the top floor of the Beaumont Hotel, Lucien Moreau stood behind the glass wall, his reflection framed against the skyline. He looked calm, collected, perfectly in control, the way people expected a man like him to be.But beneath that stillness, his thoughts were sharper than the cut of his suit. Tonight was not just another corporate meeting. Tonight was personal.He had returned to Paris for one reason only — the acquisition of Marchand & Co., a jewel of a company that had eluded him for years. And behind that empire stood her.Celeste Marchand.Once his equal. Once his rival. Once the woman he almost loved.Lucien’s jaw tightened at the memory. He remembered the last time they stood in the same room, both younger, reckless, drunk on ambition. She had betrayed him in a deal that cost him everything but his pride.He had built himself back from that. Brick by

THIRD PERSON POVLondon shimmered that night beneath a veil of mist and amber lights. The streets around Mayfair were alive with sound, laughter spilling out of black cars and grand entrances. Behind the iron gates of the Beaumont Mansion, the city’s elite gathered in a blur of silk, champagne, and whispered secrets.Isla Hart hadn’t planned to come. She had told herself she was done with this kind of scene, done with fake smiles and expensive masks that hid shallow hearts. But as her driver opened the car door and the cool October air brushed her skin, she realized she had come anyway.Her black velvet dress clung to her curves like sin itself, the neckline dipping lower than usual. A silver mask covered half her face, the kind that turned her eyes into something mysterious. She felt the sting of cold air on her shoulders, smelled the rain that hung over London, and for the first time that night, she smiled.Inside, the ballroom was glowing. Golden chandeliers spilled light onto poli

CHARLOTTE POVThe company jet touched down in Milan just after noon, sunlight spilling across the runway like liquid gold. I sat across from Marcus Reed, pretending to focus on the portfolio open in my lap while my mind was miles away. He looked entirely too at home in the leather seat, one arm draped casually along the armrest, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened. Even in the quiet hum of the cabin, he seemed to fill the entire space — a man who didn’t need to speak to command attention.Every time his eyes met mine, something inside me twisted. It had been months since the night that changed everything, the night we crossed a line I never meant to cross. Since then, we’d pretended it never happened. Professional, polite, composed. But sitting there, with the Italian sun painting his skin in gold, I could almost taste that pretense cracking.He leaned forward, his voice low but steady. “You’ve been quiet,” he said.“I’m reviewing the presentation,” I replied, my tone clippe

CHARLOTTE'S POVWhen it was over, Marcus didn’t move away. He stayed there, his body still pressed against mine, both of us caught in the haze between exhaustion and quiet disbelief. His breath brushed against the curve of my neck, rough and uneven, and I could feel his heart thundering against my back. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy, slow, full of something that felt like release and ruin all at once.He didn’t say anything for a long while. Instead, his fingers moved in slow, lazy circles over my thigh, tracing patterns that made goosebumps rise on my skin. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, rough, still edged with the gravity of what had just happened.“Come on,” he murmured near my ear. “You need food before you pass out.”I smiled faintly, too tired to protest, too sated to care. “You think I’m that weak?”He chuckled, the sound low and deep. “I know you are. You’ve been running on caffeine and nerves all week.”That made me laugh softly, even as