Her Heart, Her Terms Novels & Stories

she countered, her lips curving faintly, “I’m just very good at not being noticed.” His smile deepened, slow and deliberate, like someone savoring the first taste of a game worth playing. “I find that hard to believe.” She let her gaze drift past him toward the auction stage, a calculated dismissal, as if their exchange were nothing more than idle politeness. “Belief,” she murmured, “is optional.” He followed her line of sight—briefly—but his focus returned to her, sharpened. “Perhaps. But I have a feeling,” his eyes caught hers in a way that felt more like a promise than a prediction, “we’ll see each other again before the night ends.”

She was just a piece on the board—decorative and useful, but never in control. But clearly, that piece had started to believe she was the player. I gave Terry a nod. He handed her the divorce papers. "What? Are you leaving me with nothing? Dream on, Zach! If you want a divorce, I want half of the Neel family's fortune!" Samantha tore the papers to shreds, her eyes burning with defiance. I called in Eugene Shaw from HR and asked him to deliver her termination letter, but she ripped that up, too. I watched the shredded paper flutter to the floor, smiling. None of it mattered as I was simply notifying her of my decisions. Like everyone said, my legal team had never lost a case.

"That illegitimate child of yours isn't worthy of this blood." She ground her heel into the red puddle, speaking with venom in every word. "I'd rather pour it out to water the flowers than give it to you." At that moment, Danielle felt her heart shatter, and even breathing became painful. The VIP room door slammed shut with a heavy thud, sealing Meghan and Taylor away from the chaos outside. Danielle stumbled back to Olivia's hospital room and cradled her cold body, tears falling onto her pale face. As despair slowly overwhelmed her, her phone screen lit up.

Her nails were digging hard into the palms of her hands, and blood was trickling out from between the cracks. She rushed over to Ivan and slapped the knife away. Then, she grabbed hold of the best man, took off his coat, and draped it around Ivan's shoulders. She sounded helpless as she said in a voice filled with heartache, "Don't do this, Ivan. Don't hurt yourself anymore." "I knew it. I knew that you still loved me, Ari." Ivan took advantage of the situation and hugged her back tightly. A smug, victorious grin spread across his face as he arrogantly cocked his chin up at me.

Mira closed her eyes and let him hold her, her face pressed against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear. She didn't say the words. But she felt them—burning in her chest, pressing against her ribs, demanding to be set free. I love you too. God help me, I love you too.

She was older than Adrian expected—forties, maybe—but carried herself with the precision of someone trained her entire life. Her voice, once filtered by the mask, emerged natural now. “In its current state,” she said gently, “the Heart is a chorus without a conductor. A thousand voices screaming at once.” Her gaze shifted to the glowing orb. “You think you connected people. But you only opened the wounds.” “Wounds are meant to heal,” Adrian said. “Only when tended properly,” she replied. She lifted the glowing disc. “With this interface, the Heart will be able to sort, align, and guide every signal. Every person. Every mind.”

Effect deliberate. “You rejected a bond because you feared weakness,” she continued. “Tonight you watched me command a room that would swallow most Alphas whole. So let us be clear.” She lifted her chin. “You do not get to question where I stand.” Silence stretched. Luther pushed off the door. Took one step. “Then tell me the terms,” he said. Her eyes sparked. Interest. Approval. A trace. “There are no rules,” she replied. “Only terms.” He stopped an arm’s length away.

“Why not? He sounds nice.” “He is nice, and that’s the problem,” she agrees. “The sex was good. Scratched the itch beautifully. But…” She tilts her head, searching for the words. “He doesn’t make my heart do that stupid, irregular thing.” I laugh despite myself. “You and your dramatic heart.” “You know exactly what I mean,” she shoots back. “That feeling where your brain stops working and suddenly, you’re questioning all your life choices?” “Unfortunately,” I sigh.

“This is all new to me, I just need time to adjust.” She laughed, and it sounded so Cruel, “Adjust?” she echo mockingly, “no sweetheart, adjustment is what you do when you move houses or change jobs, what you need is fire, boldness, claws. If you try to ‘adjust’ to this family, to this life, you’ll vanish and become nothing. You need to look this madness in the face and snarl right back.”

“Matters of the heart aren’t like growing vegetables.” “I’m dying,So I gave up everything to get him back.” “Oh, how noble,” I drawled. “Let me guess—you think dying makes you irreplaceable. That you’ll haunt his heart forever.” Her eyes glittered. “If you couldn’t win his heart in seven years, that’s not on me.” She said it like she’d already won. Like she was the final mate mark and I was just a temporary scent trail he got lost on. I leaned forward, voice low and steady. “You’re dying. What exactly do you think you’re taking with you?”