บททั้งหมดของ HIS POISONOUS POSESSION: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

[The Gilded Spectacle]The weight of the truth was heavier than the chains in the cellar. As Dante stood over her in the guest room, the wind from the open balcony doors whipping his dark hair into a chaotic crown, Ivy felt the very foundation of her identity crumble. Her father—the man she had nearly sacrificed her life to protect—wasn't just a thief. He was the architect of a betrayal so intimate it had curdled Dante Moretti’s soul.Dante reached down, his fingers calloused and cold as he snatched the vellum letters from Ivy’s lap. He didn't read them; he didn't need to. He crushed them in his fist, the sound of the parchment crinkling like bone."You thought you found a weapon," he said, his voice a low, terrifying vibration. "You thought you found the one secret I feared. But I have lived with these words burned into my retinas since I was ten years old. I watched them in the garden, Ivy. I watched your father promise her a world that didn't belong to him, while my own father was

[The Gallery of Sins]The return to the estate was a descent into a different kind of darkness. The city’s neon glow faded into the rearview mirror, replaced by the oppressive, salt-sprayed shadows of the cliffs. Inside the Maybach, the silence was no longer a void; it was a living thing, heavy with the weight of the threats Dante had leveled at the opera.Ivy stared out the window, her hand subconsciously hovering over the ruby at her throat. The magnetic lock felt heavier now, as if the weight of Dante’s words in the opera box had physically added to its mass. He sat beside her, a silhouette of sharp angles and cold intent, the glow of his phone the only light in the cabin as he typed out orders that likely decided the fate of men half a world away."You’re thinking of him," Dante said, not looking up from his screen.

[The Echoes of the Damned]The darkness in the gallery was thick enough to swallow sound, yet every noise felt amplified, vibrating through the soles of Ivy’s feet. The rhythmic thud-clink of metal against stone grew louder with every passing second. It was a mechanical, dragging sound—the gait of someone whose body had forgotten how to move without the weight of iron.Dante’s hand clamped over Ivy’s mouth, his other arm wrapping around her waist to pull her back into the deepest shadows behind the large mahogany desk. His skin was cold, his pulse racing against her back. In the total absence of light, he felt less like a man and more like a part of the architecture—solid, unyielding, and terrifyingly alert.

[The Master's Ledger]The master suite was a cathedral of shadows and cold silk, a space designed to intimidate as much as to house. Unlike the guest wing, Dante’s private quarters faced the black, churning heart of the Atlantic. Here, the sound of the waves was not a rhythmic lullaby; it was a violent, percussive roar that shook the very glass in the floor-to-ceiling window frames. It felt like the house was under siege by the sea itself.Dante closed the door behind them with a click of the lock that sounded like a hammer cocking on a revolver. He didn't turn on the lights. The moonlight cast a pale, flickering glow that made the room look like it was submerged underwater."You’re quiet," Dante remarked, his voice a low vibration. He began to unbutton his shirt, his movements slow and agonizingly deliberate. "Most women in

[The Curator’s Mercy]The aftermath of the private inquisition left the air in the Palisades tasting of ozone and expensive scotch. Ivy sat at the edge of the obsidian-topped dining table, the heavy silence of the mansion pressing against her eardrums. She had just finished signing away the last remnants of her lineage, and the ink on the documents felt like dried blood on her fingertips.Dante had dismissed the board members with a chilling politeness that sent them scurrying back to the city like rats from a sinking ship. Now, it was just the two of them in the vast, vaulted room.Dante stood by the window, his silhouette cutting a sharp, lethal line against the grey afternoon sky. He was looking out at the cliffs, his hands clasped behind his back, the very image of a conqueror surveying his spoils. But Ivy wasn