All Chapters of Fractured Desire: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Elara POVI woke up to the silence. Not the sterile silence of my own apartment, but the plush, expensive silence of Adrian Velasco’s penthouse, broken only by the distant sounds of the city and the deep, even rhythm of the man sleeping beside me.My body was a roadmap of sensation deep aches mingling with a terrifying, profound contentment. I was naked, tangled in pristine white sheets that smelled like his cologne and our sex. I lifted my hand, seeing the faint bruising on my wrist where he had pinned me, and a wave of heat—shame and a shocking hunger washed over me.It was real. All of it. The demanding kisses, the primal rhythm, the way I had screamed his name while he drove into me.I slid out of the bed, needing distance, needing my clothes. The cold marble floor was a rude shock against my bare feet. I found my torn dress draped over a ridiculously expensive armchair, the fabric ruined, mirroring my current state."Trying to run already?" His voice, deep and clear, cut through

Elara POVThe silence Adrian left behind wasn’t empty it was heavy, vibrating with the latent energy of a predator who had just marked his territory. I finally found my torn dress, tossing it onto the lounge chair like a discarded memory, and pulled on one of Adrian’s silk robes—charcoal gray, ridiculously soft, and smelling irrevocably of him. It was my uniform in the gilded cage.I was staring at the glittering, indifferent skyline when the door chime sounded, a soft, discreet ding that shattered the illusion of solitude.I didn’t move. “It’s open,” I called out, my voice still catching from the intensity of our final exchange.A woman walked in, not a maid or security, but a perfectly tailored machine of efficiency. She was impeccably dressed in a navy suit, her hair pulled into a severe, elegant bun. She carried a sleek tablet and a folder that looked like it contained the secrets of the universe.“Ms. Santos. I’m Amelia Vance, Mr. Velasco’s executive liaison,” she announced, her

Elara POVThe intervening hour was an absolute blur of suspended reality. The wardrobe consultant, having returned, stood mutely beside a rack of custom designer dresses, but I saw only the charcoal suit Adrian was wearing, and the possessive gleam in his eyes before he left. I was not a woman waiting for clothes I was a captive counting down to the next visit from her jailer.I didn't need the clock. I felt the moment the hour turned like an electric pulse in the marble floor. The secured line buzzed once. I picked it up before the second ring could sound, my fingers clenching the cool plastic.“Better,” Adrian’s voice commanded instantly, devoid of greeting. It was rougher this time, laced with a triumphant edge that spoke of ruthless boardroom victories. “Tell me what I missed in the last sixty minutes, Elara. Did you put the silk back on?”“No,” I whispered, walking away from the consultant and toward the most secluded part of the massive bedroom. “I threw it on the floor. It felt

Elara POVI lay completely motionless beneath the crushing, absolute weight of him. Adrian was a solid, overwhelming presence, his heart hammering against my chest, his ragged breaths hot against my ear. The world was reduced to the slick heat of our joined bodies and the low, furious triumph that vibrated through his core.He finally shifted, pulling his head back, his gaze scorching mine. He was spent, yes, but still predatory, still the conqueror.“Silence,” he stated, his voice a thick, guttural rasp, heavy with satisfaction. “I need the sound of your breaking point to sustain my control. You wanted me to take it, Elara. Did I collect the price in full?”“No.” I gasped, the word tasting like defeat and raw need. My body was still shuddering, aching for the release he had denied me all day. “You took the climax. You didn’t fill the emptiness you created. I’m—Ahnn—I’m still waiting for the permanence you promised.”A dark smile curved his lips. He lifted his hand from where it reste

Elara POVI didn't move. I lay sprawled on the bed, still slick with sweat, the scent of Adrian and my own raw exhaustion filling the air. The heavy sheets were tangled around my legs, and the sight of his torn white shirt on the floor was the only proof that the last four hours had been anything more than a violent fever dream. I was physically incapable of rising, but my mind was raging with the terrifying clarity of the secrets he had forced from me.The inner door chime sounded exactly five minutes after he left. Amelia.I didn't reach for the sheet. I was done hiding.The door opened, and Amelia walked in, composed and immaculate in a severe navy suit. Her eyes scanned the room—the torn linen, the rumpled sheets, my naked, spent body—but her professional expression didn't waver. She carried a sleek tablet, a garment bag, and a small, leather-bound folder.“Good afternoon, Ms. Flores,” Amelia said, her voice crisp, devoid of judgment. She placed the tablet on the bedside table and