Nihility Devouring Flame

Vincent Okoye has spent a decade building a spotless reputation at London’s top tech advertising firm. Sharp, composed, and fiercely loyal, he’s finally on the brink of promotion, until everything unravels. The night he lets go of his carefully guarded control, he ends up in bed with a charming stranger. By morning, that stranger is no longer a mystery, he’s Ethan Levitt, Vincent’s new boss, old university flame, and the son of the company’s enigmatic CEO. Ethan offers him everything he’s ever wanted: recognition, influence… and maybe something dangerously close to love. But there’s a condition, complete obedience, in and out of the boardroom. Caught between the seductive pull of his past and the steady loyalty of Pascal, the man who’s stood by him for years, Vincent is forced to choose. But in a world of ambition, secrets, and shifting power, love may come with the highest price of all. Desire. Loyalty. Power. In this game, someone’s bound to lose. And Vincent can’t afford for it to be him

“Run, little flame,” he growled, voice thick with hunger. His voice dropped lower, “But if I find you…” “I'll fuck you till your legs give out. Until you forget who you are. Until all that's left is my scent on your skin and my name on your tongue.” And she ran. This is the first book of the Moonblooded series.

Elena had once believed that silence could mean safety. That a gentle hand and a warm cup of tea placed quietly on her desk every morning could be a form of love. Lucien was never cruel—not in the obvious ways. He remembered how she liked her eggs, noticed when she swapped her perfume, and sent flowers on days he knew she wouldn’t expect them. He raised her like one would raise a pet—softly, without question. And Elena, foolish in the way only the very lonely can be, mistook his quiet affection for devotion. She told herself he was reserved. Mysterious. That love didn’t always wear its heart on its sleeve. But when the old flame returned—the one who spoke his language without needing to try—Elena saw it. The difference. He looked at her like a man who had found his lost religion. And Elena? She had simply been convenient. No tears, no scene. Just papers on the breakfast table, beside the eggs he cooked perfectly. She didn’t accuse or beg. She only asked for freedom. He didn’t sign. He chuckled. A soft, dismissive sound. “A cat raised indoors doesn’t know how to survive on the street, Elena. You’ll come back." But she didn’t. She disappeared, like smoke—except she didn’t vanish, not really. She lived. She wore colour again. Laughed at bad jokes. Let strange men hand her coffee and ask for her number. Lucien? He watched. He watched her become someone without him. And it drove him mad. The night he cornered her outside the gallery, rain in his hair and desperation in his eyes, he looked like a man undone. "Elena," he breathed, "please. Look at me. Just once." She did. Calm as ever, and her love already gone.