บททั้งหมดของ DIRTY ANGELS: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

The late afternoon sun filtered through the frosted windows of the private gym, catching the sheen of sweat on my skin as I finished my last set of deadlifts. At forty-eight, every rep felt like a small defiance against time. My trainer was the best in the business and he coached me through like a professional athlete. My blonde hair, still thick and lustrous thanks to weekly keratin treatments and a small fortune in serums, clung damply to my neck. I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall, high cheekbones, full lips, breasts that still sat pert and proud after my son and countless hours under the knife and needle. Morgan always said I looked better now than when we met fifteen years ago. Billionaires can afford excellent lighting, darling, but the mirror doesn’t lie. I was still a beautiful woman. Worth every penny. I toweled off, heart still hammering from the trainer’s brutal circuit, and headed for the spa wing. Sven was waiting. Six-foot-four inches of Swedish perfection

The fashion show unfolded in the city centre ballroom, transformed into a sleek runway arena bathed in dramatic lighting. Elizabeth and Marvin sat front row center, flanked by the evening's designers, sharp-suited creative directors exchanging quiet nods with industry insiders. The air buzzed with anticipation, champagne flutes clinking softly, the scent of expensive perfume mingling with the faint ozone of spotlights. Elizabeth's emerald gown shimmered under the lights, the deep neckline and thigh slit drawing appreciative glances. She crossed her legs, feeling the familiar thrill of being watched, yet tonight her focus kept drifting. Marvin's hand rested lightly on her knee, a grounding presence amid the spectacle. The models glided out in waves, stunning, impossibly thin, their bodies honed to architectural perfection. Long limbs, razor-sharp cheekbones, ethereal gowns. Each one a vision of controlled elegance. Then came Kahn. She strode down the runway with predatory confidence

The car ride to Kahn’s apartment was a blur of city lights and charged silence. Elizabeth’s hand rested in Kahn’s lap, fingers loosely entwined, thumbs tracing slow circles over skin. Neither spoke much; the anticipation was too thick, too delicious to interrupt with words. They soon arrived at the sleek loft building, the doorman nodded without a word, and the private elevator carried them upward in hushed, humming ascent. Kahn unlocked the door with a soft click. The apartment opened before them like a quiet exhale, clean lines, high ceilings, polished concrete floors. No clutter, no excess. A few large abstract paintings in deep charcoals and muted golds dominated one wall; a single low leather sofa faced floor to ceiling windows overlooking the River. Sparse furniture, deliberate. Masculine in its restraint, yet unmistakably lived in. Elizabeth slipped off her heels at the entry, bare feet silent on the cool floor. Her eyes drifted to the art, several pieces caught her immediate

Vincent’s voice had gone flat at the end, clipped, professional, the way it always did when he wanted to shut something down fast.Vincent, married. With kids. Happily.The words didn’t fit the man he knew.Ethan poured another three fingers of Macallan, the amber liquid catching the lamplight like molten gold. He knocked it back in one, grimacing as it scorched the raw lining of his throat.Figures.Everyone changes. Everyone except him. He was still the same broken machine, running on grief and gasoline. The desk phone rang, internal line.He snatched it up.“Boss,” came the bar manager Cam’s voice, low and careful.“Marisol’s behind the bar. Asking questions. A lot of questions. About inventory, staff schedules, and vendor contracts. She’s… persistent.”Ethan’s jaw tightened so hard he felt the muscle jump.“Persistent.”“Yeah. And she’s got that Rossi guy with her. Lorenzo. He’s just standing there. Watching. Like he owns the place already.”Ethan exhaled through his nose.“Send t

Vincent was already shrugging out of his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of the chair without looking.Ethan didn’t give him time to finish. He grabbed Vincent by the tie and yanked him forward into a kiss that was all want and desperation.Vincent groaned into his mouth, hands fisting Ethan’s shirt, ripping buttons as he shoved Ethan back toward the desk.Papers scattered.A glass tipped and rolled; neither cared. Ethan’s ass hit the edge of the wood, and Vincent was between his thighs in an instant, grinding hard, cocks already straining against the fabric like they were trying to tear through.“You’re so fucking hot,” Vincent rasped against Ethan’s lips, voice wrecked. “How could I not want to fuck your brains out? Every goddamn time I see you, I get a hard on thinking about you bending me over.”Ethan bit Vincent’s lower lip hard enough to draw a hiss, then licked the sting away.“I’m gonna claim every hard inch of you and your devastating cock.”“Then do it. Stop talking an