Semua Bab Craving Forbidden Pleasures : Bab 51 - Bab 60

Lila's POVThe chandeliers of the Langston Grand glittered like a thousand frozen fireworks, scattering gold light across marble floors polished enough to blind. My father’s annual gala was in full swing — waiters gliding with champagne, men in sharp tuxedos murmuring deals behind practiced smiles, women in jewel-bright gowns laughing like they weren’t calculating every word.I’d been here before, always as the dutiful daughter — smiling, shaking hands, pretending I didn’t see the way people looked at me and then at my father, assessing how they could use one to get to the other. But tonight felt different. I don't know how I knew it but I could feel it. I didn’t notice him at first.What I noticed was the silence. It rippled outward, subtle but real — the kind of shift that happens when a predator walks into the room. People glanced up, voices lowered, and then I saw him.Alexander Draven.He was taller than most men here, broad-shouldered in a midnight-black suit that looked like

I told myself I wouldn’t see him again.That the touch in the alley had been a one-time mistake — a moment of weakness in the wrong place, at the wrong time.But Alexander Draven wasn’t the kind of man who let a moment stay in the past.The first sign was the package.It arrived the next morning. No note, no sender’s name, just a black velvet box tied with a thin silver ribbon. Inside was a diamond choker — delicate, glittering, worth more than most cars. My throat went dry as I lifted it, the diamonds cold against my skin. There was a tiny inscription on the clasp, in elegant script: Mine.I put it back in the box and shoved it into the back of my closet.His? I scoffed. Because of a piece of jewelery? Dream on mister! I thought of the inscription again, "Mine", and felt a tiny tremor run through me. Excitement - dangerous excitement that I quickly squashed. Damn! By the third time I checked to make sure the choker was still there, I hated myself a little.The second sign came that

It should have been a secret.I should have kept that night in Alexander’s penthouse locked behind my ribs where no one could touch it.But secrets have a way of bleeding into the air.It started with the look my father gave me at breakfast — sharp, assessing, as if my face had written its own confession.Then the call came. I couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but I saw the way his jaw set, the way his fingers whitened around the phone.By evening, I knew.The car ride to his private office was silent except for the hum of the engine. I followed him inside, the door shutting with a heavy finality that made my stomach tighten.“Is it true?” he asked, turning on me so fast I almost stepped back.“Is what, true?” My voice cracked on the word.“Don’t lie to me or play dumb. Are you seeing Alexander Draven?”The silence between us was thick enough to choke on.“I—”The door opened before I could answer.Alexander walked in like he owned the air in the room, hands in his pockets, bl

The invitation hadn’t been meant for her.It had arrived in a black envelope, edges gilded in gold, the handwriting a sharp, elegant script that looked as though it had been carved into the paper rather than written. She had found it tucked between the pages of a library book she’d been shelving during her evening shift.She should have put it back. She should have left it for whoever it was truly meant for. But the embossed seal — a crimson wax crest shaped like a rose dripping with blood — caught her fingers before her common sense could.It had read only: Midnight. Wear a mask.The House of Thorne welcomes you.And so here she was, standing at the wrought-iron gates of a mansion that looked as though it had been plucked out of a gothic fairytale and dropped into the city’s outskirts. Candlelight glimmered in every window, warm but strange, as if the flames themselves were aware of her presence.The air smelled faintly of roses. And something sharper. Metallic.She adjusted the sil

The rain had stopped by morning.Elena woke to find the crimson silk sheets tangled around her legs, her skin still humming from the night before. She didn’t remember falling asleep. She only remembered his mouth at her throat, his fingers moving inside her like they belonged there, the dizzy, molten way his voice had wrapped around her name.And now — daylight.If it was daylight. The windows were shuttered, the air thick with the faint perfume of roses and smoke. A low fire burned in the marble hearth.He was there.Seated in a high-backed chair carved with roses and thorns, his posture perfectly straight, a glass of dark liquid in his hand. He wasn’t looking at her — not yet. He sipped, then set the glass aside and rose in a slow, deliberate motion.“You’re awake.”Her voice came out hoarse. “You kept me here all night.”“You fainted,” he said, as though it explained everything. “I fed you. I kept you warm. I could have taken more, but I did not.”Her hand went instinctively to her