All Chapters of HATE ME HARDER (a dark revenge romance): Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

CHAPTER 1 RAVEN'S POV:The silencer coughs once, a soft, almost child-like, like a suppressed sneeze in a quiet library, and the mark drops like a sack of wet cement, his body folding in on itself with an undignified thud. His cheek smacks against the cold marble floor of his penthouse kitchen, the impact echoing slightly in the vast, open space, and blood starts pooling immediately, dark and viscous, spreading out in lazy, irregular fingers under the harsh, unforgiving glow of the pendant lights hanging like judgmental chandeliers above the island counter. The river view through the floor to ceiling glass windows mocks the entire scene, Manhattan's skyline glittering indifferently in the distance, a million twinkling lights that seem to say, "Another life snuffed out in this city? Who gives a damn?" I step over him without a second glance, my boot narrowly avoiding the edge of the stain as it creeps toward the grout lines. It is done, lingering on the dead is a luxury I can't aff

CHAPTER 3RAVEN'S POV His fingers hover at the edge of the lace, so close I can feel the heat from his skin brushing mine like a threat. The room is a cocoon of dim red light filtering through heavy velvet curtains, the bass from the club below thrumming up through the floor like a distant heartbeat. Private suite 12 smells of leather and bourbon, his bourbon, the kind that's aged in barrels worth more than my rent. The window behind him overlooks the writhing bodies on the dance floor, but up here, it's just us, predator and prey, though he's got it all wrong about who's who."Not yet," I repeat, my voice a low purr laced with steel. I tilt my head just enough to let the wig's waves shift, obscuring more of my face. My hand moves, slow, deliberate, brushing his away like I'm indulging him, like this is still a game he paid for. But under the skirt, my fingers itch toward the sheath on my thigh. One quick draw, and I could have the blade at his carotid before he blinks those d

CHAPTER 5:RAVEN’S POV:The black SUV arrives at 9:45 p.m. on the dot, headlights off, engine a low, predatory rumble in the quiet Brooklyn street. I emerge from the alley shadow, hood pulled low until the last moment, then open the rear door and slide inside. The leather seat is cool against my bare thighs. The driver, clean shaved head, thick neck, glances once in the rearview, gives a single curt nod, and pulls away. No words, no pleasantries, just the faint scent of a new car and the city lights streaking past tinted glass like bleeding neon.Tonight marks my first official night working for Damien Blackwood.I adjust the lace mask in the dim cabin glow. Black filigree clings from nose bridge to hairline, leaving only my mouth and chin exposed enough to tease, not enough to betray. The wig is long, glossy raven waves that spill past my shoulders in deliberate disarray. Hazel contacts mute the gray eyes that could undo everything. Corset laced bone-tight, ribs compressed, b

Chapter 7: CLARISSA’S POVThe mirrored elevator doors of the Tower reflected a woman who looked like she’d been dragged through hell and back. Platinum hair limp and tangled from fingers that weren’t Damien’s, lips swollen and lipstick faded to a bruised pink. The cash in my clutch, ten grand after the house cut from three private rooms, wasn’t enough to wash away the bitter taste of defeat. I straightened my pencil skirt, smoothed the silk blouse that clung to my sweat-damp skin, and stepped out onto the top floor like a woman on a mission.Junior VP of acquisitions. That’s what the brass nameplate on the office door said. But titles doesn't really matter to me now, not when i have a more pressing issue at hand.That masked bitch had slithered into Velvet reservoir and turned the club into her personal kingdom. Men who used to book me exclusively now waited in line for her. Triple bids. Quadruple. And Damien, my Damien watched that bitch perform, something he has not done for m

Chapter 9: RAVEN’S POVThe contract landed in my encrypted inbox at 2:17 a.m.three days after I walked out of Darkar with Oscar’s grin still crawling under my skin and his last words ringing like a death knell: “I kept a surprise for you.”Target: a woman.Age: 68.Location: private residence, Southampton, Hamptons.Payment: $750,000 on confirmation.Notes: advanced dementia, make it clean, no witnesses, no trace.A photo of a woman was sent, a basic floor plan, security rotation, and a single line: “She’s kept on the second floor, east wing, white room.”I didn’t hesitate. Another message popped up my phone, another photo Oscar sent me, i opened it and it was an image of Lila asleep in her bed, taken from outside her window. A reminder, one wrong move and my daughter becomes payment.The house was a fortress pretending to be a beachside estate. White stone, manicured lawns rolling down to the Atlantic, windows that caught moonlight like knives. Perimeter cameras every twenty feet