Lahat ng Kabanata ng HIS POISONOUS POSESSION: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

[The Golden Handcuffs]The Grand Ballroom of the Pierre Hotel was a masterclass in decadence, a glittering trap of gold leaf, crystal chandeliers, and the heavy scent of lilies and expensive perfume. To the elite of the city, it was the social event of the season—the annual Masquerade of Shadows. To Ivy St. Claire, it felt like a funeral. Her own.The silk of her emerald gown felt like cold water against her skin. It was an expensive dress, one of the last few luxuries her family owned, bought back when the St. Claire name actually meant something in the banking world. Now, it was just a shroud."Breathe, Ivy. You’re hyperventilating," her father, Arthur, muttered beside her. He adjusted his plain black mask, his hands shaking so violently that he nearly dropped his champagne flute. "If the creditors see us looking desperate, the wolves will move in before the first course is served.""The wolves are already here, Dad," Ivy replied, her voice a fragile thread. She adjusted her silver

[The Price of Blood]The air in the library became suffocating, the scent of old paper and Dante’s expensive cologne turning into a toxic fog. Ivy’s breath came in ragged hitches as she stared at the heavy oak doors. Her father was here. He had come for her. He had to have come for her. The words Dante had just spat—claims of betrayal, of a generational blood feud, of her father’s secret sins—whirled in her mind like shards of glass, but she pushed them down. She had to believe in the man who had raised her."He wouldn't," Ivy whispered, more to herself than to the monster standing over her. "He’s my father."Dante’s hand remained on her waist for a second too long, a searing heat through the silk of her dress, before he finally released her. He stepped back, moving toward the mahogany sideboard to pour himself a finger of amber liquid. The crystal decanter clinked softly against the glass—the only sound in the room besides the frantic thudding of Ivy's heart."Belief is a fragile thi

[The Woman in the Foundation]The air that billowed up from the hidden staircase was not merely cold; it was ancient. It carried the scent of damp limestone, rusted iron, and the sharp, cloying odor of medicinal spirits. Ivy froze at the precipice, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The skeletal hand that had snagged her emerald hem was gone as quickly as it had appeared, retreating back into the gloom of the stairwell, but the sensation of those cold, spindly fingers remained branded on her skin."Walk, Ivy," Dante commanded. His voice was no longer the smooth bourbon of the ballroom; it was the crack of a whip. He stood behind her, a towering shadow that blocked out the warmth and light of the gallery. "You wanted to help the voice in the wall. You wanted to play the saint. Now, let’s see if your halo survives the basement.""Dante, please," Ivy whispered, her eyes fixed on the darkness below. "This is kidnapping. This is torture. If you let me go now—if you

[Whisper in the Dark]Dante watched her for a second, his jaw tightening, a flicker of pain crossing his face before he masked it with cold indifference. He turned to Ivy."You haven't eaten since the gala," he noted. "And you look pale. I prefer my possessions to be pristine, not fainting from hypoglycemia."Ivy didn't move from her corner. "I’m not hungry. I want to leave.""We don't always get what we want, Ivy. I wanted a father who wasn't branded a criminal. I wanted a mother who remembered my name without screaming." He took a step toward her, crossing the invisible line into her personal space. "Eat.""No."Dante sighed, a sound of exaggerated patience. In a blur of motion, he closed the distance between them. He grabbed her arm, hauling her up from the cot. He didn't drag her to the food; he pulled her body flush against his."You are defiant," he murmured, looking down at her. His eyes scanned her face, then dropped lower, lingering on the heave of her chest. Ivy held her bre

[The Ink and the Shackle]"Mr. St. Claire is currently... indisposed," Dante answered, cutting his steak with precise, surgical movements. "He is likely on a plane to a country with non-extradition treaties, enjoying the small stipend I allowed him to keep. He didn't want to be here for the final scene, Ivy. He prefers to watch the fire from a safe distance."Ivy felt a fresh wave of hatred for the man who had raised her. He was running while she was sitting in the lion's den."I won't sign," Ivy said, pushing the paper away. "I won't validate this theft."The room went silent. The lawyers shifted uncomfortably. Dante stopped chewing. He placed his knife and fork down slowly. The sound of silver hitting china echoed like a gunshot."Theft?" Dante repeated softly. "You think this is theft? Your father stole fifty million dollars from my family, Ivy. He stole thirty years of my mother's life. This isn't theft. This is a refund."He reached out and grabbed her left hand—the one bearing t