Marble Pencil Molding 소설 & 이야기

Lena Marchetti, twenty-eight, operates on fumes. Her father Marco's cancer treatments have swallowed her savings and the final credits of her degree. She interns at Croft Industries, a glass tower engineered to diminish. She is invisible, sweat gluing her blouse to her spine, until she drops Julian Croft's Montblanc pen. The crack on marble halts breath. She scrabbles on cold stone. When she lifts her chin, Julian crouches beside her. He doesn't retrieve the pen. He waits. His gray eyes hold hers, and heat floods her neck, damp and unwelcome. "You break it, you buy it," he says. "And you can't afford it." He leaves her kneeling. At 3:17 AM, her phone blares: Croft. Office. One hour. She goes. His office smells of leather and ozone. He slides a contract across the desk. Six months. Exclusivity. Her compliance. In exchange, her father's debt dissolves. Her signature slants, barely legible. After her best friend Dani labels Julian a sociopath, Lena sobs in the service elevator. He finds her. "Come with me." He escorts her to a 24-hour diner. He orders cherry pie, slides it across formica. She is wrecked—blotched skin, swollen lids. He studies her as if memorizing the topography of her distress. He teaches her to fence. She lunges, jabs his ribs. He laughs in that rusted, startled way that travels up her calves. She registers: I manufactured that sound. Elara Vance, Julian's former mentor who sold his first deal for a board seat, resurfaces. She invites Lena to lunch, offers employment. "He'll never perceive you as an equal. Work for me. Become a threat." The words burrow. Lena's palms dampen at his touch. While Julian travels, she picks the lock of a hidden room. A library.

He was hired to guard the boss’s daughter. I’m that daughter… and I’m dying to fuck my own bodyguard. His thick cock slammed into me again and again, stretching me so deep I saw stars. I was bent over the marble counter in the safe house, dress shoved up to my waist, his huge hand fisted in my hair as he fucked me like he hated how much he needed me. “What do you think your dad would do if he catches us here?” Arnold growled against my ear, voice dark and filthy, never slowing his punishing rhythm. I chuckled through a broken moan, pushing back to take him harder. “I’m his one and only princess. He won’t do a thing to me. As for you… he’ll hang you alive and watch until the last drop of your blood dries.” I smirked, trying to mask how dizzy he made me. Then he whispered fearlessly, “I know the rules, but I don’t care.” ______ My name is Dorla De Luca. I’m twenty one. I was almost kidnapped, and my mafia father decided the only way to protect his only daughter was to assign his most trusted and most dangerous bodyguard to watch me 24/7. He never expected that bodyguard to be the man I’ve been secretly craving since I was eighteen. Arnold Black Russo is thirty two, cold, lethal, and bound by a blood oath to my father. Loving him is suicide. My father would put a bullet between his eyes without blinking. Yet every stolen touch, every forbidden night, only makes the fire burn hotter. He was hired to guard me. Instead, he’s ruining me. And I never want him to stop.

I stumbled over my own feet as he shoved me through the doorway, barely catching myself before I hit the polished marble floor. A gasped escaped my mouth as I straightened up, eyes wide as they scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. Or should I say - a mansion, everything about it screamed wealth, power and danger. I blinked rapidly, trying to push back those tears, smearing them away with my shoulder because my hands were bound tightly in front of me. The ropes bit into my skin, a cruel reminder that this wasn’t a nightmare. It was my new reality. “Welcome to my world, princess,” he said, voice like velvet over broken glass. ---- Lewis. The name alone makes my stomach churn. The man I once thought I loved. The one who walked into my life with a smile, too perfect and eyes too deceptive. At first, he was everything I ever wanted. Until he became everything I feared. He didn’t just hurt me, he broke me. And just when I thought there was no way out of his twisted love, his brother appeared. Like a storm. I thought I saw a savior in him. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. I never sought his attention. I never wanted his eyes on me. But he gave it anyway unrelenting, consuming, obsessive. He didn’t offer me freedom from Lewis. He offered me a different kind of captivity. One laced with soft touches and sharp edges. One that didn’t hurt my skin, but carved into my soul. He stole my sanity with his silence, my breath with his gaze, and my heart with his wickedness. I was a puppet of two devils - one who broke me openly, and the other who worshipped my broken pieces like treasures he owned.

To afford train tickets home for New Year's Eve, I searched for a part-time job and stumbled into a livestream that was practically throwing money at the chat. A young woman in a silk robe rested her chin on her hand. Behind her, a villa glowed under expensive lighting that reflected off polished marble floors. "Being kept in here is suffocating," she said in a voice that mixed boredom with sweetness. "My sponsor gives me more money than I can spend. Help me out. Take some off my hands." Cash drops flashed across the screen one after another. I tapped as fast as I could, my heart hammering. A few large ones landed in my account. I was close. One more would cover both my ticket and my boyfriend's. The streamer leaned closer to the camera. "He keeps saying my tear mole looks like his girlfriend's," she said, her mouth twisting with disgust. "So unlucky. Of all things, I had to match with some broke girl." My finger slipped. I had a tear mole under my eye in the same spot. The live chat flooded with questions. [How is the sponsor's girlfriend broke?] The streamer gave a short snort and reapplied her lipstick, as if correcting a minor flaw. "He's just messing around. He tricked her into 200,000 dollars in debt. She's so stupid she works multiple jobs to help him pay it off." A chill settled in my chest. My boyfriend also owed 200,000 dollars. She continued, her tone light, "The funniest part? He slept with me for three days. When he left, I asked if he was giving her a taste of honey." She smiled cruelly. "He said all he has to do is claim he's going to work a construction site hauling rebar. The idiot will feel guilty and deliver food all night. So he won't need to please her." Another large cash drop flashed across the screen. The total reached the exact amount I needed. My phone rang. Benjamin's name lit up the display. When I answered, his voice sounded worn down, as if it had scraped against concrete. "Via, we still don't have enough for the tickets," he said. "I hauled rebar and made a little over 40 dollars. I'm heading home now."