All Chapters of The Daughter's Revenge: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Lana’s POVThe sun is barely a pale smear outside the massive windows when I slip out of bed.I’m still wearing his shirt, the white cotton soft against my skin. Still wearing nothing underneath. Still sore from yesterday’s emotional wreckage, but the tears are finally dry. They’ve been replaced by a cold, unsettling curiosity.Roman’s mansion is huge, quiet, and unsettlingly cold. It’s not haunted; ghosts at least leave residue. This place is just… empty. A polished, sterile mausoleum of wealth.I pad barefoot down the long, immaculate hall, looking for any trace of life. Any sign of a home.Wedding photos? Framed candid shots? Tacky vacation memories?Nothing.Not on the console table, not on the vast, blank walls, not even a single dusty picture tucked away. Everything is curated to be impersonal. For a newlywed billionaire’s mansion, it’s… sad.I walk into the master suite—his, obviously. The bed is vast, shrouded in sharp, ironed linens, perfection in white and charcoal. Only one

Lana’s POVThe sheets in the guest bed are rumpled. My body feels heavy, satiated, and gloriously powerful.I woke up smiling.I know he heard me last night. I didn’t whisper his name for my own pleasure; I whispered it for his ears. I wanted him to feel the exact kind of helpless, agonizing pull I felt when I walked in on my mother and Larry.He didn’t come in. The door stayed shut.Control. That is his currency. And last night, I made him use every last bit of it just to keep his distance.I put on a pair of tiny cotton boy shorts and a slightly sheer white tank top. I need him to look at me, and I need him to see exactly what he’s denying himself.I pad down to the kitchen. He’s already there, standing at the island, reviewing his tablet. He looks tired. His jaw is tight beneath the perfect stubble. Good.I grab an apple and lean back against the counter, legs crossed casually at the ankle.“Morning, Roman,” I chirp, biting into the apple with an unnecessarily loud crunch.He barel

(Roman's POV) That's the last thought that sticks as I shove through the office doors, barking orders at the assistant who scurries behind me with a tablet full of numbers I don't give a shit about right now. I lock myself in the corner suite, drop into the leather chair, and stare at the city skyline like it owes me answers while the clock ticks toward noon and my head keeps circling back to her.I don't go near the east wing when I finally drag my ass home that night. I don't check the kitchen, don't linger in the foyer, don't even glance down the hallway that leads to her room. Instead I head straight for my study, pour three fingers of Lagavulin, and sit in the dark with the door cracked just enough to hear if she moves through the house. Because I know she will. She always does.My phone lights up on the desk. Lana: You looked good down there last night. All that sweat. All that control. Wonder how long it'll last. I already deleted the first one this morning, but she sent it

(Lana’s POV) I push through the automatic doors of the grocery store with my shoulders slumped and my eyes half-closed, the fluorescent lights buzzing like they’re personally offended I’m still awake. Long day. Too long. All I want is a carton of yogurt, maybe some milk if I’m feeling ambitious, and maybe a bottle of cold water so I can pretend the day didn’t suck as much as it did. Then straight home to collapse in Roman’s guest bed and pretend the world doesn’t exist until tomorrow. I grab a basket, head straight for the dairy aisle, eyes half-lidded from the fluorescent lights. That’s when I see them. Larry and my mother. Sitting at one of those stupid little café tables near the bakery section, the ones nobody ever uses unless they’re killing time. He’s got a slice of chocolate cake in front of him, fork halfway to his mouth, and she’s leaning in close, laughing that fake breathy laugh she does when she’s playing seductress. Her hand is on his thigh under the table, moving