temptation of desire의 모든 챕터: 챕터 1 - 챕터 6

The rain didn't stop. It battered the high-altitude glass of the penthouse all through the night, a dull, rhythmic hammering that sounded like knuckles on a coffin lid.Julian didn't sleep. He sat on the edge of the sprawling king-sized bed in the dark, watching the red digital numbers of the nightstand clock glow, tick, and fade. 3:14 AM. 4:22 AM. 5:45 AM.Every time he closed his eyes, he heard Marcus’s dry, dismissive laugh ringing in his ears.“He’s like a velvet pillow. Soft, dull, and entirely predictable. He has no spine.”Five years. Five years of waking up early to iron Victor’s shirts with distilled water so no mineral spots would touch the cotton. Five years of memorizing the exact temperatures Victor preferred his morning espresso, his bath water, his red wine. Five years of shrinking himself into a corner of high society so Victor’s cold, old-money family wouldn't be embarrassed by the orphan boy Victor had brought home from the provinces.And it had all been a game. A tr

Cold was not just a temperature; it was an entity.It squeezed Julian’s ribs like iron bands, forcing the last pockets of oxygen from his lungs as the ocean swallowed him whole. The salt water burned his throat, his eyes, his skin, dragging him down into the absolute pitch-black abyss off the coast of Blackwood Cove.Above him, the storm-racked surface flickered with faint, chaotic bursts of lightning, shrinking into tiny, distant pinpricks of light.So this is where it ends, Julian thought, his mind drifting into a strange, peaceful numbness. Five years of devotion. Five years of shrinking into shadows. All swallowed by three hundred feet of dark water.He closed his eyes, letting his limbs go limp. He felt his grandmother’s silver ring slip from his numb finger, sinking into the dark sea bed below. He let it go.Then, through the roaring silence of the deep, a blinding yellow light pierced the blackness.A heavy splash echoed underwater. A dark, powerful silhouette cut through the c

Three months later, the Grand Palais Ballroom of the Obsidian Hotel in Manhattan hummed with the discreet, lethal chatter of the global elite. Crystal chandeliers threw fractured light across hundreds of tailored tuxedos, satin gowns, and champagne flutes filled with vintage Dom Pérignon. Victor Vance stood near the center of the mezzanine level, looking every inch the grief-stricken corporate titan—or at least, the version of it he had sold to the press. He wore a crisp, dark-charcoal tuxedo by Tom Ford, his hair impeccably coiffed, a glass of scotch resting between his fingers. Beside him stood Marcus, impeccably groomed in midnight blue, acting as both chief communications officer and silent shadow. "The board approved the restructuring this morning, Victor," Marcus murmured, slanting a glance at Victor over his champagne glass. His tone was casual, but his eyes glittered with suppressed triumph. "With Julian’s estate officially settled under the presumption of death, his equit