The CEO’s Fake Bride
“Not for the studio. Not for my grandfather. Come back because I’ve discovered that being the Iron King in an empty tower is the most miserable way to exist.”
Sofia felt her resistance drain away. She had seen the man behind the machine, the boy from Tuscany who had been taught that iron doesn’t cry, but who now showed that iron could indeed be forged by desire and longing.
“You’re still a possessive, controlling idiot, Moretti,” she said, her hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer.
“I’m a man who has learned that the only thing I truly want to possess is the privilege of having you by my side,” he replied, kissing her neck with a hunger that made her arch her back.
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