Semua Bab Craving Forbidden Pleasures : Bab 301 - Bab 310

Dr. Cole had always believed in control.It was the foundation of his practice, the creed beneath his polished calm. Control the room. Control the voice. Control the narrative.But in the weeks after Evelyn’s final visit, control slipped from him like sand through open fingers.The first cracks were small. A missed appointment. A hesitation mid-sentence. A patient asking if he was all right. He laughed it off, of course—smooth, reassuring, the same charm that had once disarmed everyone in his orbit. Yet when the door closed and the quiet settled, the laughter stopped.He started to dream again.Always the same: a woman standing in the half-light, whispering his name not in devotion but in accusation. Her breath—his old mantra—beating like a pulse against his skull. Mine. Only mine.He’d wake drenched in sweat, the words circling back like a curse.Soon after, complaints began to surface. One woman said he blurred boundaries. Another claimed he’d used “therapeutic intimacy” to manipula

The didn’t sleep.Every time she closed her eyes, she heard his voice: tomorrow, the game begins.The silk sheets tangled around her restless legs, the scent of him still clinging faintly to the air. Power. Control. Possession.When dawn came, it spilled across the glass walls in a flood of gold. The city below stirred awake, but she was no freer for it. The penthouse felt more like a gilded cage with every passing hour.A sound startled her—the click of the lock. She sat up instantly, clutching the sheet to her chest. He entered, not in last night’s suit but in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled back to reveal strong forearms, dark trousers tailored to perfection. Even casual, he looked like a man who never surrendered control.In his hands, a long box wrapped in black silk.Her heart pounded. “What’s that?”“Clothes,” he said. “For you.”“I don’t need your—”“Clothes,” he repeated, setting the box on the bed. “Or would you prefer to remain wrapped in that sheet, hiding like a frigh

The night was heavy with thunder. Rain lashed the glass walls of the penthouse, the city blurred below in a wash of silver and shadow. She stood at the window in another slip he had chosen for her—this one the palest ivory, so sheer it was almost nothing at all.She told herself she wore it because there was nothing else. She told herself it wasn’t surrender.But when she heard the door open, and felt the weight of his gaze sear down her back, she knew she was lying to herself.“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice low, reverent.“Stop calling me that,” she whispered, not turning.He came up behind her, his reflection merging with hers in the glass. He was taller, broader, consuming the space she occupied until there was nowhere else to stand but pressed against him. His hand slid over her hip, fingers grazing the silk, the other lifting to tilt her chin until her eyes met his in the window’s reflection.“Lesson five,” he said softly. “A beautiful thing should never hide.”Her breath caught

The storm had passed by morning, leaving the penthouse bathed in pale, forgiving light. She lay tangled in silk sheets, body sore from the night before, throat still raw from his kiss. The memory of being pinned to the wall made her pulse quicken in shame—and something else she didn’t dare name.He sat across the room, on the leather chair by the window, dressed in black as always. He watched her with that same unshakable calm, sipping coffee as though nothing unusual had happened.Her voice cracked the silence. “Why me?”His brow lifted.She pushed herself upright, clutching the sheet against her chest like armor. “You could’ve bought anyone. Any woman in the world. So why me?”For a long moment, he said nothing. Just studied her, as though calculating whether she was ready for the truth.Finally, he set the cup down. “Because you remind me of something I lost.”Her stomach tightened. “A lover?”He shook his head slowly. “Not quite. A ghost. A shape I can’t stop chasing.”She frowned

The penthouse smelled of cordite and blood. Broken glass glimmered across the marble like fallen stars, sharp edges catching the glow of the city lights outside.She sat slumped against the sofa, silk clinging damply to her skin, her chest rising and falling in erratic waves. Every nerve trembled from the adrenaline. She should have been terrified. She should have been thinking of escape, of the man who had invaded, of the revelation that she wasn’t just some random possession.But all she could think of was him.He was standing over her, chest heaving, his shirt torn and streaked with crimson. His gun dangled loose in his hand, but his eyes burned with something far hotter than rage. They were wild, desperate, a man unmoored.“You see now,” he rasped, voice low, ragged. “The world wants to tear you apart. Take you, use you, break you. And I—” He crouched down suddenly, grabbing her chin, forcing her to look at him. His thumb smeared blood across her jaw, mingling with the sheen of he