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Lahat ng Kabanata ng Sweet Little Temptation : Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

29 Kabanata

PROLOGUE

BEVERLY I still remember the smell of the hospital that night. Antiseptic. Cold air. Death. It clung to my skin long after they covered my father’s body with a white sheet. I was sixteen years old, sitting alone in a plastic chair with trembling hands and swollen eyes while nurses walked past me like I was invisible. Nobody knew what to say to a girl who had just lost her only parent. Honestly, I didn’t think there was anything to say. My father was gone. Just like that. One moment he had been smiling weakly at me from the hospital bed, telling me everything would be fine. The next, machines were screaming. Then silence. I remember staring at the floor because I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t accept that the man who raised me alone, who burned pancakes every Sunday morning and sang terribly while driving, was suddenly… nothing. Gone. People always talk about grief like it arrives dramatically. Like thunder. Like some huge explosion inside your chest. But mine came quietly

CHAPTER ONE

BEVERLY Having a crush on an older, more capable man had completely ruined dating for me. No guy my age ever measured up. Not when I knew what it felt like to be cared for by someone who remembered every little thing about me. Someone who listened when I spoke. Someone whose voice alone could calm me down after the worst days of my life. Still, I had tried. Which was exactly how I ended up dating Dylan. Or rather… about to break up with Dylan. I planned to spend the night at his apartment, which was why I showed up unannounced with an overnight bag hanging from my shoulder and a bottle of cheap wine in my hand. Thank God I did. Otherwise, I never would have caught him in the act. The moment I stepped into his apartment, something felt wrong. There were heels near the couch. Not mine. A woman’s laugh echoed softly from somewhere deeper inside the apartment, followed by Dylan’s voice—low and flirtatious in a way I had never heard directed at me. My stomach

CHAPTER TWO

BEVERLY I recognised his voice from the numerous calls and late night chatting over the phone. I finally saw him, my crush,the man who has been taking care of me in place of my father. The kiss flashed through my mind again. That was the first time I ever got turned on from a kiss. God. I had practically climbed him. Mortifying. My eyes slowly lifted toward him again now that panic wasn’t clouding my vision anymore. Tall. That was the first thing I properly noticed. He towered over me easily, broad shoulders stretching beneath his black dress shirt like the fabric had been tailored specifically for him. The sleeves were rolled slightly past his wrists, exposing strong hands and veins that flexed every time he moved. And his face, he was unfairly handsome. Sharp jaw. Dark eyes. A straight nose that somehow made him look even more severe. His features weren’t soft or pretty. They were the kind that looked dangerous in low lighting. The kind that belonged in

CHAPTER THREE

BEVERLY I woke up entangled in my duvet with no idea about how and when I actually fell asleep. There is no need for me to actually hide out in my room. He must have definitely disappeared again ,just as usual. Getting off my warm and extremely comfortable bed,I went into the bathroom to shower, turning on my Bluetooth speaker and cranking up the volume to the highest level, a daily ritual. My taste in music had always been chaotic. Korean, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, French, English—it didn’t matter where it came from, as long as it made me feel something. My playlist was a mess of languages and moods, songs that had no business existing together but somehow did. Soft ballads sat next to loud rap. Love songs sat next to heartbreak anthems. Nothing matched, but everything fit. The newest BTS playlist started my morning, and I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water hit my skin and slowly pull me back into myself. The tension from last night still lingered somewhere in my b

CHAPTER FOUR

BEVERLY The remaining bite of my pancake suddenly tasted a lot like victory. I chewed slowly, my eyes locked on Damian as he finished the last of his coffee. The man drank it black, obviously. No sugar, no cream, just pure, bitter energy to fuel whatever dark empire he ran when he wasn’t busy lurking in the shadows of this mansion. He set the porcelain cup down with a soft, authoritative click that seemed to punctuate the end of our conversation. The rigid, unyielding armor he wore so effortlessly was back in place. The tiny, almost-invisible twitch of his lips from a few moments ago was gone, buried beneath a layer of ice so thick you’d need a blowtorch to get through it. He slid his iPad into a sleek leather sleeve, his large hands moving with a practiced, lethal efficiency. Then, he stood up. God, the sheer height of him was an occupational hazard. Even in a simple cream polo shirt and jeans, he managed to make the high-ceilinged dining room look small. He adjusted his watch,

CHAPTER FIVE

BEVERLY By the time I finally set my brushes down, the blazing sun had begun its slow, lazy descent, painting the horizon in bruised shades of purple and burnt orange. My lower back ached from leaning over the easel for hours, and my fingers were stiff, but the restless, chaotic energy that had been buzzing under my skin since last night was finally gone, transferred entirely onto the canvas. I stepped back to look at my work. The painting was heavy. Dark. A towering, abstract silhouette of a man emerging from a storm of deep crimson and midnight black, highlighted by sharp, jagged slashes of shimmering gold. It looked dangerous, beautiful, and completely unhinged. It looked exactly like Damian. "Get a grip, Beverly," I muttered aloud to the empty balcony, wiping a stray streak of black acrylic off my thumb. Slipping off my headphones, the heavy bass of the music died out, replaced by the profound, stifling silence of the estate. The mansion during the late afternoon felt like a

CHAPTER SIX

BEVERLY Damian didn’t come down for dinner. The massive, polished mahogany dining table was set for two, but the head of the table remained glaringly empty. A quiet, older maid had served me a rich, spicy plate of jollof rice and grilled chicken with an unsettling politeness, murmuring that “Master Damian is caught up in some urgent matters in his study.” Urgent matters. Right. He was definitely hiding out in his office like the Batman billionaire that he is, probably staring at computer screens or signing death warrants, anything to avoid having to look at me across a dinner plate after what happened by the stairs. I chewed my chicken slowly, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. Let him hide. Let him think that a heavy oak door and a code lock could protect him from me. He had spent two entire years playing the role of a ghost, a comforting voice in the dark, and an untouchable guardian. He thought he could just slide right back into that role whenever the tension

CHAPTER SEVEN

BEVERLY I lay in bed, curled into a tight, pathetic ball, not even trying to move an inch. I was terrified that if I so much as shifted a millimeter, the invisible hand twisting my insides would tighten its grip. But no matter how hard I tried to stay completely still, I could still feel the sharp, daggering pain pulsating through my pelvis. Oh, the absolute joy of being female. A dull, rhythmic throb settled into my lower back, making me squeeze my eyes shut and press the pillow even harder against my stomach. I was officially trapped in my own personal purgatory, silently cursing Mother Nature and wondering what crime I had committed in a past life to deserve this monthly torment. Suddenly, a soft, deliberate knock sounded at my door. I blinked, my eyes snapping toward the dark wood. Before I could even wonder if I had imagined it, a deeply familiar, low voice drifted through the panel. "Are you awake?" It was Damian. How nice. I let out a weak, breathless puff of air

CHAPTER EIGHT

BEVERLY The miracle happened exactly fifty-five minutes after Damian left the room. I was lying on my side, the plush pink heating belt strapped firmly around my waist, sending a steady, blissful wave of high-intensity warmth vibrating directly into my lower abdomen. I had already demolished half a bar of the dark chocolate, the rich, bitter sweetness working wonders on my mood, and had washed it down with the warm chamomile tea he’d provided. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the sharp, daggering claws in my pelvis began to loosen their grip. The constant, exhausting throb in my lower back dissolved into nothing more than a faint, distant whisper. I let out a long, dramatic sigh of pure relief, sinking deeper into the mattress. For a while, I just lay there, enjoying the simple, beautiful sensation of not being in excruciating pain. My mind inevitably drifted back to the image of Damian—the formidable, untouchable billionaire—standing awkwardly at the edge of my bed with a wicker ba

CHAPTER NINE

BEVERLY The adrenaline from the confrontation with Dylan faded quickly, leaving behind a strange, empty quiet that the professor’s monotonous lecture completely failed to fill. Up at the podium, Dr. Amadi was droning on about chromosomal mapping and genetic linkage, his laser pointer dancing across a complex slide of DNA sequencing. Under normal circumstances, I would have been typing furious, detailed notes. I was a top student; I had fought like hell for this placement. But today, my fingers remained completely frozen over my keyboard. My eyes were fixed on the screen, but I wasn't seeing base pairs or double helices. Instead, my mind was trapped in the dark, high-ceilinged corridors of Damian’s mansion. Specifically, that heavy, biometric-locked door on the third floor. The playroom. A sudden, sharp shiver ran down my spine, completely unrelated to the lingering dull ache in my pelvis. Ever since I had stumbled upon that room—ever since I had seen the dark leather, the polish

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