PixelSpyer

Elementum Nutrition ad: Geen zin door de hitte?

Geen zin door de hitte?
Elementum Nutrition

Vitamins/supplements, 66 followers, 3 ads in library

InactiveFitnessImageLibrary ID 1067264952532924
Launched Jun 25, 2026Run time unknown

New ads are still being tested; watch whether it survives past 30 days.

Ad copy

Geen zin door de hitte?

Geen zin om te sporten in deze hitte? Juist op warme dagen voelt starten soms extra zwaar: Warm, loom en weinig motivatie. Elementum Pre-Workout helpt je om je focus te pakken, de knop om te zetten en toch je training uit te voeren. Clean label performance fuel voor sporters die bewust kiezen wat ze in hun lichaam stoppen.

elementumnutrition.euShop now
Placements
FacebookInstagramAudience NetworkMessengerThreads
Reach (0 locations)
Not disclosed
Languages
Dutch

Why this ad works

Hook, angle, audience and three ideas to borrow — written by AI from the ad copy.

Similar ads from other brands

InactiveJun 27, 26
😍🔥🔞Read now to see what happens next👉🏻👉🏻👉🏻
Video

fqwebsite.novellairs.com

😍🔥🔞Read now to see what happens next👉🏻👉🏻👉🏻

Learn more

On my first day at the new school, the Queen Bee attacked me. She wanted the Alpha and told me to stay away. So, I punched her and broke her nose! The terrifying Alpha caught us and ordered me to his private office for "detention". I thought my life was over. But when he locked the door, he didn't yell. Instead, he smiled, handed me a slice of hot pizza, and growled... ----------------- Book 1 Chapter 1 Katya My fingers drum on my school desk as I watch the seconds tick by on the clock above the chalkboard. All while trying my best to ignore the twat flicking paper balls at my head. Mr. Spencer drones on with his boring lecture, unaware not a single one of his students is actually listening; most are too busy passing notes, whispering amongst themselves, or like Sam, tossing paper balls at me. I press my lips in a line. Same shit, different day. At least the school year is nearly over. Then my holidays will be spent lounging at home while going through college brochures. I just have to keep reminding myself I will be out of here soon. And that a suspension right now will have my mother breathing down my neck or maybe wringing it. I know better than to piss that woman off. She would hand me my ass before I could process her coming for me. She has a reputation, and it isn’t for being a pushover. Plus, I don’t get a free pass just because I am her daughter. I'm in my last year of high school, and I am glad this part of my life is nearly over. Soon I won’t have to endure the constant torment of being the freak of our Pack. Only three more months of school, and I'll be free to choose never to see these assholes again. My father is the Packs Beta, a highly regarded Pack member. I’m sure you can imagine his disappointment when he discovered my secret. I am the freak, the wolf-less girl. Our school is a Pack school with only werewolves, no humans allowed. You can imagine what kind of hell it has been for me. I'm basically human, shamefully so. And they like to remind me of that every day while here. However, my parents are the best. The Pack may shun me, but not once have they ever entertained the idea, always telling me I was a late bloomer and my wolf would come one day. I used to believe that story too, until now. I am nearly eighteen, at the age you find your mate, and still without my wolf. Most get their wolf at thirteen. Not getting your wolf is like not hitting puberty. On the plus side, I can say I did hit that one milestone. It was the rest I damn well skipped over. When the bell rings, I am the first out of my seat, rushing to the cafeteria. I snag a lunch tray and begin making my way to the line and quickly grab some food and move to the back of the room to my designated spot. Aren’t I so lucky? This seat and table were specifically reserved for the freak, some asshole even carved ‘freak’ into the tabletop, just in case I forgot my place within the Pack. How sweet. Conveniently, it is located beside the toilet, which in a way, could be classified as the best seat in the cafeteria. Especially on Thursdays, when they serve something that resembles braised steak and onion, it doesn’t taste anything like it; the meat has been questioned plenty of times. Whispers that the kitchen lady is serving expelled students. Personally, I think it is roadkill or maybe a rodent. Anyway, that lovely Thursday lunch has sent many running for the toilet. Luckily, after the first time I devoured that crap, I make sure to bring a homemade lunch on Thursdays. I have just taken my designated seat to eat lunch, the cafeteria bustling with students, when I hear my name called over the PA system. “Katya Hartley, please report to the front office,” the middle-aged woman who works as the school's secretary announces. The entire cafeteria laughs and boos at me, chucking food at me as I leave. I keep walking, tossing the contents of my tray in the bin and placing my tray next to it. I am more than used to their taunting remarks at this point. For the most part, I try to remain invisible, which is near impossible when you're the Beta's daughter, and your mother is one of the leading Pack warriors. Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I pull a chunk of lettuce from my dark brown hair that was stuck when Thomas threw his burger at my head. Thomas couldn’t catch an IQ to save his life, but he proved his throwing arm is quite good, or maybe I am just an easy target because it splattered all over my head. I swipe at my hair, my fingers grazing over my wet cheek, and I pull my hand back to look at it. Ew, and it has mayo on it. I groan, using the sleeve of my sweater to wipe my hair to remove the white gunk while marching out the cafeteria doors. With quick steps I walk down the corridor and head toward the front office. With my elbow, I shove the door open and race across the quad. The brown door to the office is nearby, my safe place. No one messes with me here. Mrs. Mason is a scary woman. No one dares to cause drama in the front office. As I am nearly halfway across the quad, Tabitha and her goonies step in front of me. I roll my eyes. What does this bitch want now? Tabitha is the Alpha's daughter, and her brother, Darian, is next in line for the Alpha position; both of them are my nemesis. “Hey, freak,” Tabitha sneers, blocking my path. I try to step around her, but she sidesteps directly in front of me. “What do you want, Tabitha?” I ask. We used to be friends, well, until everyone found out I had no wolf, then I became the laughingstock of the school. “Oh, nothing, just came to give you the proper send-off,” she says with a smirk, and my brows furrow as her words replay in my head. “What do you mean?” I shake my head, having no idea what she is talking about. Her blue eyes brighten maliciously, her plump lips pull up into a taunting smile. “You haven’t heard?” she questions in a sing-song tone. Whatever she has to tell me, she is enjoying this. She fans herself with her hand then checks out her manicured nails. It makes no sense to me why she bothers getting them done when they only break off whenever she shifts. “If you have something to say, Tabitha, spit it out. I have to get to the office,” I retort, done playing her stupid games. Meril and Bianca, her goonies, snicker behind her as Tabitha takes a step forward. I give her the once over, my eyes moving over her. Bitch, you don’t want to test me today. I am covered in burger and nasty ass mayo. I'm starving from not being able to eat my crappy lunch, and I'm being called to the office. Nevertheless, I will feed her bony ass to her if she tries anything. I might actually take my mother's advice for once and deliver the beat down Tabitha deserves. Tabitha jabs her finger in my chest, and I slap her hand away as she leans down closer. Her breath smells of mint chewing gum. “My father has banished you. So I thought I would come to see you. Can't miss the chance to say my goodbyes to the unwanted Beta’s daughter,” she says with a giggle while Bianca and Meril laugh at her not-so-funny joke. Geez, those girls are just as stupid as they look. If they weren’t beautiful, I can guarantee no one would put up with their antics. Before I can question her further about her outlandish claims, she takes a step back and something wet and cold runs down my face just as the office door opens. Meril dumps her milkshake over my head, and it seeps into the crocheted sweater my mother made me, drenching me completely. I feel the slivers of thickened milk run between my cleavage and press my lips in a line. Taking a step forward, I clench my fist, wanting nothing more than to break Tabitha’s perfect nose. Only I don’t get a chance when my mother's furious voice echoes around us. Tabitha jumps and I smirk. Now you’ve done it. “Tabitha Elizabeth Blackwell, is there a reason you are tormenting my daughter?” my mother demands. I turn on my heel to find my mother walking toward us. Her dark hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and she has an expression as if someone has thrown a burger at her head and she is going to yank off their arms and beat them with them. She marches over. She is a strong woman, stern, and she brings fear amongst the she-wolves, including the Luna of the Pack. My mother kicked her ass in training in front of the entire Pack for saying I should have been put down at birth because I was that worthless to the Pack. If she weren’t the only female Pack warrior, my mother definitely would have been punished for embarrassing the Luna like that. Still, everyone knows that Alpha Jackson has always had the hots for my mother. He has since they were kids, and was disappointed when she turned out not to be his mate. Tabitha’s smile falls as she twirls around to face my mother, who is stalking straight towards her. Meril and Bianca take off, afraid to face her wrath. But before Tabitha can do the same, my mother stomps past me. My mother growls so deeply and brutally it makes me flinch. “It was-was an accident,” Tabitha stutters out. To think this pathetic girl is an Alpha female and is scared of my mother. I can’t help the smirk that creeps onto my face. Tabitha’s fear is so pungent, I am shocked she doesn’t soil herself. What I wasn’t expecting is for my mother to raise her hand and slap her. Tabitha squeals loudly, her head whipping to the side and my mother's hand outline imprinting on her face. I cover my mouth with my hands in complete shock at what she did. Tabitha cups her cheek as her eyes water. Her eyes dart around the quad, the rest of her face turns as red as the handprint etched into her skin. Shit, Alpha Jackson is going to kill my mother now; she just struck the Alpha’s daughter. I hear gasps and look around to see a few people have seen what my mother has done, my mother doesn’t seem to care about the audience as she raises her hand again. “Mom!” I shriek, and she looks over at me, spotting a few teachers rushing out. My mother stares them down, daring them to say something. Tabitha tucks tail and runs off, crying. I can just imagine the ridicule she will get tomorrow over it, the she’ll have her dear old daddy has to reinforce his control so that she can take back her Queen Bee status. “I have always wanted to put that mutt in her place,” my mother says as she grips my arms and leans down to look me dead in the face. “Why do you put up with it?” she demands, grabbing my hands and raising them. “You are trained better than any of these little shits here. You may not have a wolf, but that has never stopped you from kicking their asses in training. I trained you. Your father trained you. These worthless bitches are beneath you. You just need to see it.” I shake my head, knowing it would just make my torment worse, and my hands are no good against a shifted wolf. “Come, we are leaving,” she orders, straightening up and turning on her heel walking toward the parking lot. I chase after her, falling in line beside her. “What’s going on?” I ask, worried after what Tabitha said. Getting to the parking lot, I see an orange moving truck parked next to our car, and I stop in my tracks. “Mom, what's going on?” I ask again when my father hops out of the car. My mother also stops and reaches out, gripping my soggy sweater and forcing me to keep walking. “Hey, Pumpkin,” my father greets, walking over and embracing me while my mother quickly gives the thumbs up to the mover waiting for her order. “I knew you liked strawberry milkshakes. I didn’t know you wanted to wear them, though,'' my father teases, drawing my attention back to him. He swipes some off my hair with his hands before gripping it in a ponytail, and wringing out my hair. My mother goes to the trunk, pops it open, and retrieves a water bottle. “Tip your head back,” my mother instructs, and I obey, craning my neck back as far as I can. She uses the water bottle to rinse my hair then tears my sweater up the side and takes it off me. “Mom!” “I will make you another,” she scolds, tossing it in the garbage can along with the now empty water bottle. “So, is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” I ask again. My father glances at my mother then gives me a smile. “You’re moving,” my father announces like it is no big deal. I gape at him. Does he mean house, state, or country? Probably best to leave the country since my mother has just slapped Tabitha. That would be wise. Alpha Jackson isn't known for his willingness to forgive anyone. “Why, is what Tabitha said true? Did they banish me? Are you getting rid of me?” I ask, feeling sick to my stomach. We have never left the Pack, not even on holidays. My parents never take time off. They have never had a chance with their positions in the Pack. I only know of one other family in our Pack whose child didn’t have a wolf, and they threw him away like trash. They literally kicked him out, and it is something I have always been worried about, my parents getting rid of me like I never existed because I brought shame to them. My eyes move to the moving truck and back to my father, but it is my mother who answers my question. “Yes, what Tabitha said is true. Alpha Jackson has asked you to leave. This is a werewolf-only community, and he wants you gone once you hit eighteen,” my mother replies. I have to leave; the Alpha has finally convinced them to get rid of me. My lungs restrict and I feel on the verge of a panic attack. Where will I go? How will I survive? My worst nightmare is coming true. “So this is it? You’re sending me away?” I choke out, tears brimming. They are going to get rid of me, force me to go rogue. “No, of course not. You’re our baby. We knew this was coming, so we made plans. All of us are joining another Pack and coming with you,” my mother tells me with a softer smile than usual. She cups my face in her hands, squishing my lips together. “We would never throw you away. Never, Kat!” she tells me, and I nod my head. Relief releases the tension in my bones as she kisses my forehead. When she lets me go, she turns to look at my father. “By the way, Hun, we should leave,” my mother quips, walking around to the passenger side in a hurry. My father goes to ask why, but she slips in, slamming the door before he can ask her. “She slapped Tabitha,” I whisper to him, and he rocks back on his heels in shock for a second. A silly smile slips onto his face when he leans closer to me. “Did she get her a good one?” my father asks, sending me a conspiratorial wink, and I smile, shaking my head with a soft laugh and hopping into the back seat. My father pulls away, and the truck follows us. “What about you, Dad? Aren't you the Pack Beta?” I ask, worried, knowing he will lose his title over this. “I won't be part of a Pack that shuns my daughter. They want you gone? Then I go, too,” he says, leaving no room for argument. I have the best parents. Relief floods me, even though I feel guilty for ripping them away from everything they have. “Everything will work out, dear. You’ll see,” my mother reassures me, reaching over from the front and gripping my knee. “What Pack would want a wolf-less Pack member?” I ask, more to myself than to them. “You’re not wolf-less, just a late bloomer. Your wolf will come, Kat. You are born from two werewolf parents. Therefore, you are a werewolf,” my mother states, not wanting to see the truth. I am as useless as they say I am. They know it, and I definitely know, yet they still continue to lie to themselves, believing some miracle will happen, and I will finally wake up and tell them my wolf came to me. “We are moving to the Black Creek Pack. Alpha Ezra has kindly offered to take us in,” my father tells me as my mother turns back to face the front. Alpha Ezra? I rack my brain, trying to pull the name from memory, knowing I have heard it before. As I repeat the name, my eyes almost bulge out of my head, and I lean forward in panic. No, anywhere but his Pack. Chapter 2 Fuck, I will take my chances going rogue. “Black Creek Pack? Isn’t that the Pack that just went to war with the Blue Mountain Pack?” I cautiously ask, hoping I'm wrong about who he is. “Yes, Katya. I know you're scared, but the Alpha is truly a nice guy. He was very understanding. Besides, I think he was happy about stripping Jackson of his Beta and only female warrior,” my mother tells me smugly. “Yeah, but he killed their entire Pack, Mom. He is a monster,” I argue. I am more scared of my so-called new Alpha than my current one. Everyone has heard of the notorious Alpha Ezra and the fear he instills in his enemies. I lean back, knowing already that this is a terrible idea. A sinking feeling in my stomach weighs down the gravity of the situation we are in. “I’m sure he had his reasons. Besides, it is not like anyone else was willing to take us in,” my mother scolds. “So, he knows I have no wolf?” I ask, knowing all Packs are small communities solely of our kind. I am a little shocked he even agreed. Who would accept a wolf-less girl? My parents glance at each other and I blink at them, my brain finding actions and words hard to process. "It won’t be an issue as long as you can prove yourself to be helpful around the Pack,” my father replies. Great, he doesn't know, and I will have to act like an omega slave, I think dryly. I fall asleep on the drive, only waking when we stop at a storage shed. The drive took five hours total, and I am exhausted. My back is killing me, and my ass went numb halfway here. The movers load our stuff into the storage shed before a sleek black car pulls up beside ours and two men climb out. I move closer to our car, taking a step back as they approach us. Both look at me, sniffing the air as I watch them. By their scent, I know they are werewolves and high-ranking ones. “Alpha Ezra requests your presence at the Packhouse immediately,” the man with dark hair that is faded on the sides growls. He appears to be in his early twenties, and by the authority oozing off him, I can tell he is the Pack's Beta. His eyes dart to me and he looks me up and down, a strange look on his face. Is he angry, or is it shock? I can’t tell, but whatever it is, he covers it quickly. He presses his lips in a line and swallows, turning his attention back to my father. “This is your daughter?” he scoffs, motioning toward me, not even trying to hide his distaste as he speaks. I guess it is anger. Yep, definitely angry because when his gaze moves back to me, his cold gray-blue eyes glare daggers at me as if he wants to kill me himself. “Yes, this is my daughter, Katya. I am Derrick,” my father introduces himself, holding out his hand. “I didn’t catch your name?” my father says, drawing the man's attention away from me, which has me wanting to run and hide in the car to escape. The man grasps his hand firmly. “Beta Mateo, this is Alex, one of our Gammas,” he introduces the other man. He is around the same age, with blonde hair hanging in his hazel eyes. He looks more bored than anything. Both of them are huge, around the same size as my father. Except, Beta Mateo has more bulk of muscle, is a few inches taller, and is wearing a black shirt and dark blue jeans. “I hear you used to be a Beta at your old Pack?” Mateo questions, and my father nods. “Good, we could use some help training some of our Pack, if you are up for it?” he asks with a smirk. My father nods. “Sounds great,” my father tells him, continuing on to introduce my mother to him. “This is Shirley, my wife and mate.” “Nice to meet you,” my mother tells them, stepping forward and shaking their hands. The Beta’s eyes keep darting back to me, his anger is now gone, but he looks confused. Every time he glances in my direction, he keeps sniffing the air, his lips pursed and as he looks me over once again I notice the points of his canines poke out a little as if he is trying to control his wolf. “If you follow us, we will escort you to the Packhouse. You can be placed with someone until the property is available,'' Mateo explains, turning on his heel and getting in his black BMW. We hop back into our car preceding to follow him through the sleepy town. It is quite a large town and way nicer looking than the one back home. “See how nice they are? This will work out. It has to,” my mother says a little too enthusiastically. We follow their car all the way to the end of town and pull down a road leading into the forest we drive for another ten minutes. We stop on a horseshoe driveway in front of a huge sandstone three-story mansion with bushy green hedges out front. Massive arched windows and vines grow along the stone walls to the roof. I hop out of the car and my shoes crunch on the ground from the tiny pebbles that cover it. I look up at the Packhouse. It is definitely more lavish than the one back home. Beta Mateo leads us to the white door, he opens it and motions for us to enter. Inside it has white marble floors and a hall stand sits along the wall near the entryway with a big, expensive-looking vase. My mother looks around in awe. Two staircases lead to the landing above, overlooking the floor we are on. I stare, amazed, as I take it all in. We walk toward the door between both stairwells. I spy some bench seats next to it, and Mateo knocks on the door, a deep voice tells him to enter. A shiver runs up my spine. He slips through the door, closing it behind him a few moments later he returns, telling my parents to go in and for me to wait until called. I wait for what feels like hours when my mother comes out, and sits next to me. The Packhouse is quiet, no one walks around, and I can’t hear anyone else here. "He is just speaking with your father, then he will want to speak to us individually to make sure our stories are the same," my mother explains to me in a hushed voice. “What story? They banished us because of me," I whisper to her. He will find out and kill us, or worse, make me leave without my parents. My mother nudges me with her arm. "Shh, calm down. Everything is fine. He probably won't ask you much because you're our child," she tries to comfort me, trying to calm me down enough that I don’t get us caught. Tears brim and I quickly wipe them away. If I fuck this up, I will ruin our only chance of remaining together. "What did you tell them?" I ask softly. I have to make sure I get this right. I can’t afford to say the wrong thing. "They were going to banish us. It's not lying; it's the truth. He doesn't need to know the reason why. You have a wolf, Kat. She will come. You'll see," my mother tries to reassure me. "And if she doesn't?" I whisper. "She will," my mother replies, steel in her voice. I hang my head. I will be the biggest disappointment to them, which makes my stomach twist painfully. My father steps out and nods to my mother. She wipes her hands on her jeans then gets up and walks into the office, closing the door. "He will initiate you into the Pack. It isn't so bad. You just need to drink his blood, Kat, and you will feel the Pack link snap in place." Gross, I think to myself. "What about the old Pack?" "It will hurt a little once you pledge, like a migraine. I won't lie to you. It brought me to my knees," he whispers, as I hear my mother cry out. My father jumps to his feet, head snapping toward the door. I hear soft murmurs before the silver door handle jiggles, and opens. My mother stumbles out, clutching her head. My father is at her side, instantly helping her to her seat. Nervousness makes me take a step back, not wanting to endure whatever she just happened to her. "Kat, you need to go in," my mother whispers, pulling herself together, with her fingers gently rubbing her temples. Fear chokes me and I shake my head, too scared to go in. My mother is the strongest woman I know, and if it hurt her that badly, I know it must be painful. My father comes over, grabbing my arms and gives me a gentle shake until I look at him. "Kat, we did all this for you. This is the only choice we have to remain together, so I need you to do this for us," he orders, holding my gaze. I swallow and glance at the door pausing, I nod. "Is everything alright out there?" the Alpha calls out from inside the room. I look to the door in a panic. "Please, Katya, once it's done, it's done, it stops, I promise," my father tries to reassure me, yet my mother still has her head clutched in her hands. I let out a breath. My father steers me toward the door and then nudges me. My hand trembles as I grip the door handle and push the door open. Keeping my head down, I step inside, close it, and look up at the Alpha. He is looking at some documents on his desk. He has dark hair, long on top, faded on the sides. I freeze at the strange look he gives me when he looks up. He sniffs the air slightly, and I wonder if he can sense that I am different. A low, deep growl rumbles from his chest softly as he grips the desk so hard his knuckles turn white. His caramel eyes flicker to the beast residing within him and I have to fight down the urge to run out of the room. Hesitantly, my feet move toward the desk. He is very handsome, with a five o'clock shadow, full lips, and a strong jawline. He smells nice, too, like the forest after it rains. He has a strong woodsy scent. I would guess he is around his mid-twenties. He watches me for a few seconds when I stop, not knowing if I should remain standing or what to do with myself. After a few seconds, his body relaxes slightly, and I notice claw marks on his tabletop from where his fingers were. He beckons me closer, and I force my feet to move. His eyes watch my every move. Shit! Can he smell I have no wolf? The tight set of his jaw clenches and the way he watches me with his flickering eyes makes my blood run cold. He knows, and he is going to kill me. "You can sit," he says, nodding toward the chair beside me. I stare at it like it will come alive and bite my ass. He clears his throat and I scramble to sit on the edge, my leg bouncing as I clasp my hands in my lap, unable to keep still. I glance nervously back toward the door where my parents are waiting before turning my attention away. The room is vast, befitting of an Alpha. Though I am surprised to see bookshelves lining the walls. He has more books than our old Pack library. My fingers itch to grab one and see what kind of person he is through the things he reads. His desk sits in the center and it makes him even more imposing. Turning back to face the Alpha, I find him watching me again. "Your name is Katya?" he asks, pronouncing it correctly. Most people don't the first time, or they just don’t care to. "Yes, Alpha." "You can call me Ezra," he corrects quickly, and I nod. "How old are you?" "Seventeen," I reply, and he nods, looking at some documents, which I notice are my mother's and father's paperwork, along with my birth certificate. He picks it up while studying it. "You turn eighteen soon? You will be able to find your mate. That's exciting," he states, his eyes flicking back to me. I say nothing. No one will want me; I am little more than a defect with heightened senses. "You go to school, I take it?" I nod, chewing on my thumbnail. "Last year?" "Yes, I finish this year, well, I am meant to," I am so not looking forward to going to another school, especially so late in the year. I don’t know what bullies this school will have, but I'll attract them. It is practically a guarantee. "You'll be finishing school," he states, leaving no room for argument. I press my lips together, knowing better than to argue. "You don't like school?" he questions. "Does anyone like school?" I snap back and he smiles. "I liked school. I am surprised you don't, since you are a Beta's daughter," he says. Yeah, school was great until they found out I was a freak. "Your parents have already explained your reason for leaving. You had a run-in with the Alpha's daughter, and your mother hit her?" he asks. My mother is taking the blame. I keep my mouth shut to stop the risk of being caught in a lie, although technically, it is true, just not the reason we left. I nod. “Good enough for me; I can't stand Alpha Jackson. The prick should be put down," Alpha Ezra scoffs, not even trying to hide his dislike for my old Alpha. "Come here," he orders, standing up and moving around to the front of his desk, where he stops beside me. I jump out of my seat and take a step back, nearly stumbling over my own feet. His eyes snap to mine at my abrupt movement. He holds his hand out to me, and I look at it, feeling a little wary of the intimidating man, wondering how he has the reputation he has because he doesn’t seem as bad as the rumors I have heard. "I won't hurt you; I will never hurt you." I hesitate a moment, placing mine in his. Tingles spread across my palm, and I jerk my hand back, staring at it. "Sorry, must be static," he apologizes, and his eyes flicker black. He grabs my hand again with a smile playing on his lips, his thumb tracing circles over the back of my hand, making me look at him. The Alpha’s lips tug in the corners as he urges me closer. When I don’t immediately move, he pulls me toward him. His hand is warm, yet the strange tingling sensation doesn’t stop. I look up at him thinking it is odd, only to find he is watching me again. He is tall, I only come up to the center of his chest, and he is wide, too, all hard muscle as he towers over me. He bites his wrist, offering it to me, and I stare. My eyes dart back to his desk and I see two glasses stained with his blood sitting on the edge. So why is he offering me his wrist? Surely, he doesn’t want me to drink his blood from him like some vampire, does he? "Times ticking, little one, hurry up," he orders, pulling me closer and wrapping his arm around my waist before bringing his wrist to my lips. I grab his wrist and I can taste his lingering saliva there. His blood, surprisingly, doesn't taste bad as it floods into my mouth. Not something I would go out looking to drink. I would suck it if I were a vampire, but not really my thing. It is sweet tasting though, or maybe that is the taste of his skin. I’m not sure. He pulls his wrist away, but doesn't let go, holding me close to him. His arm tightens around my waist when he dips his head just enough so his face is next to mine, his lips grazing my ear as he speaks. Chapter 3 "Pledge to me," he whispers, and I nod. The heat from his hard chest is pressing against my back, his warmth seeping into me and I suck in a nervous breath. "I, Katya Hartley, pledge my loyalty and my life to Alpha Ezra," I stop, not knowing his last name. I glance over my shoulder at him. And for a few seconds, I am stunned by the combined strong aroma wafting from him. Sandalwood is one of the fragrances as for the other, the spicy scent of cinnamon is unmistakable. It is an intoxicating blend and I inhale deeply. My eyes flutter shut lost in the moment. "Pierce," he whispers, his lips almost brushing mine, and my eyes fly open as I wonder what came over me. He is so close and my face heats at what I did, he pulls back and I think I saw the ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. I quickly turn my face away, my weird reaction to him shocking me. "Alpha Ezra Pierce of Black Creek Pack." As the last word leaves my lips, a searing pain explodes in my head, making me drop as I clutch it. His grip tightens around me and is the only thing stopping me from hitting the floor in a heap. The chattering of my old Pack, every word I ever heard flits through my head loudly, making my ears ring, and a scream leaves my lips. The pressure of the Pack link breaking as the new one forges makes my head feel like someone is crushing it in their grip and that any moment now it will explode all over the carpet. Just as suddenly as it comes, it stops like the snap of a rubber band, only for a dull ache to take its place. "You're okay. It's over now," Alpha Ezra's voice filters through my head, making me look up at him. He smiles at me as I blink back the tears that had sprung to my eyes. "Are you good for me to let you go?" He asks. I look down to see his arms wrapped around me, just under my breasts. My face heats with embarrassment as I realize he is the only reason I am upright, quickly becoming aware of his hands on my body. Great, I am crushing on my Alpha. I step away, and he lets go. His eyes glaze over, and seconds later, my parents rush into the room, he must have been talking to them through the Pack link. "See, you’re fine. I told you it wouldn't be so bad," my father says, fussing over me. I slap their hands away. I’m not a baby. Sometimes they can be a little embarrassing. "Tonight you stay in the Packhouse. Tomorrow I will show you to your new home. May I ask why you requested one so far from everyone?" he asks curiously, looking at my father. "Kat doesn't get along well with others. She prefers being by herself," my mother answers. The Alpha seems shocked for a second, his head tilting to the side as he looks at me. "And why is that?" he questions, staring down at me. I nervously look at my parents before returning the Alpha’s gaze. "I just like being alone," I shrug, which is true, I'm not a social butterfly that is for sure. He presses his lips in a line looking back at my parents. "I have already enrolled Katya in school. She can start on Monday. You can skip the Pack run on Friday and meet me here Monday morning for your work details." "Pack run?" I ask, and my mother nudges me with her elbow to be quiet, which doesn't go unnoticed by the Alpha. "Pack runs are compulsory. Why? Is that a problem?" he asks, and I duck my head down, looking at my shoes. "No problem at all," my father replies, throwing one arm over my shoulder and holding out his other hand to the Alpha. "How are you with training teenage students?" the Alpha suddenly asks my mother. "I trained my daughter mostly and older she-wolves, but I can give it a go," she answers. "Interesting. We do need an extra hand at the high school, and you can keep an eye on Katya as well," he decides. My mother seems excited about the idea. "That would be lovely, thank you, Alpha." He nods, staring at me again before looking at my father. "My Beta will show you where you are staying for the night," he says, walking around to sit back at his desk. *** The next day we are woken early by Beta Mateo. Hopping in our car, we follow him as he drives to the outskirts of the small town. The house is more of a cottage with a large veranda out front and a gravel driveway; it is cozy, nestled amongst the trees. Hopping out of the car, I make my way inside, along with my father. Beta Mateo unlocks the green wooden door before handing the keys to my father. “Are you sure you want to live all the way out here? There are plenty of empty places in town that may better suit your needs.” “No, this is perfect. Thank you, Beta,” my father replies. “We are of the same rank, and honestly, you have been doing this a lot longer than I have. You could probably show me a thing or two. Just call me Mateo, and welcome to the Pack,” Beta Mateo tells my father before patting him on the shoulder. He walks down the steps to the lawn before he stops beside me and sniffs the air. “You smell different from most wolves,” he observes, studying me and I stiffen. “What do you mean?” I am proud of myself for sounding normal, though inside my stomach is tied in knots. What if he can smell the difference on me just like his Alpha can? “I don’t know, just different. I can smell you're a wolf, but your scent isn’t strong. Also, something else, your scent reminds me of someone,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing as if he is trying to figure out who. “Anyway, I will let you get settled in. Don’t forget, Pack runs are mandatory and on Friday evenings at 6 pm sharp. I know you have been excused this week, but it would be good to introduce yourselves to fellow Pack members. We are a tight-knit community, and the rest of the Pack will feel more at ease with newcomers that attend. Something to think about,” Mateo tells my father, who nods. I hurry up the steps with a box from the truck in my hands. “We will try our best to be there on Friday,” my mother reassures, staring me down as she walks up the porch steps toward me. I nod before following inside. A giant fireplace takes up most of the room. Its dark black bricks stretch all the way to the ceiling and it spans an entire wall. The flooring is some sort of solid wood. It is stained dark-brown, almost the same color as the bricks. The whole place reeks like it has been locked up a little too long. My mother rushes from curtain to curtain, throwing them open and cracking the windows to let the outside breeze in and the stagnant, smelly air out. I escape the living room and into what looks to be the kitchen. At least it isn't as dated as the rest of the house apparently is. Granite stone countertops, black stainless-steel appliances, and even a small kitchen island bench sat in the center. I am going to like this room. A few of Alpha Ezra’s men help bring in the furniture, and my parents unpack. Carrying a box from the truck to the back end of the house, I find my room, the smallest one right next to the bathroom and the window overlooking the forest surrounding the house. My parents' room is down the hall and has an en suite. Overall, I like it. After we drag everything inside, I go to my room and start putting my bed frame together. One of the Pack members helps bring the rest of my belongings into my bedroom. Placing them along the wall that has the window overlooking the forest. We spend the rest of the day unpacking and cleaning and making the place feel a little more homey. By the time night comes I am exhausted and fall asleep before I even eat dinner, only to wake up in the middle of the night. Going to the kitchen, I flick on the light, grab a glass of water, hop up on a stool, and stare out the kitchen window. This place is quiet, unlike our last place, which was on a busy road. I like the quiet, fewer people to evade and it feels more comfortable without neighbors prying into our lives. Yet, as I rinse my glass, movement outside makes my eyes dart to the forest edge. I blink, wondering if my eyes are playing tricks on me as I lean forward. A huge black wolf stands in the forest staring directly at me. I rub my eyes before pressing closer and peering out. My breath fogs up the window, and only the wolf is now gone. Thinking I must have imagined it or that my mind is playing tricks on me, I shake off the weird experience and leave the kitchen, flicking the lights off. Once back in my room, I climb back into bed. I pull my purple duvet with the generic lavender flowers on it up to my chin and snuggle into the pillow until I find comfort. I try to fall asleep, yet the wolf I saw keeps replaying in my mind. Who is it? We are pretty far out. Maybe it’s the patrols checking the place. Either way, eventually I am dragged back under by sleep. The next few days go by in a blur of getting into a comfortable routine. Monday comes around, and I get dressed in my jeans and blue T-shirt before grabbing my bag and loading my school books into it. My mother and father are meeting up with Alpha Ezra today before being assigned to their new jobs. Pulling up to the front of my new school, dread settles in the pit of my stomach. My mother glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Can I fake sick until next week?” I plead with her and she raises an eyebrow at me. “You will be fine, and by the sound of it, I may be working here. Just keep your head down and behave, Kat,” she cautions me, and I nod. With a heavy sigh, I open the back door and climb out of the car. I stare up at the brick building that is undoubtedly going to be like the last one, a disappointment and place of torment if they find out about me not having a wolf. Thanks to the whole mandatory Pack runs, it won’t be long before that happens, and once again I will be the school’s laughingstock. I head straight to the main office and am greeted by a woman in her mid-thirties with straight, auburn hair that hangs to her shoulders and big round glasses perched on her perfectly straight nose. Her hazel eyes look at me as I enter. A warm smile greets me, and I give a small smile back. “You must be Katya?” “Yes, I am here to pick up my schedule,” I tell her, making my way to the office desk. She looks down at the papers before pulling out a manilla folder and handing it to me. “Your schedule and a map of the school are in there, also a library card and your locker combination,” she explains. I open it, looking down at the schedule. My stomach drops when I realize that they have training every afternoon except for Fridays. I wonder if my mother knows that the students train every day for two hours. Two hours of normal training and an hour of training with our wolves every Tuesday and Wednesday. Great, just great. I won’t even be here a day before everyone finds out, and I am banished. I should be a fortune-teller I knew they would find out faster. I might as well restart packing my damn room. Maybe I can be excused for the first week, I wonder. “Thanks,” I tell her before going to go find my locker. I put the combination in while noticing a few curious stares at the newcomer, but no one is outright mean to me, which is a relief. Putting my stuff in my locker, I grab my books for my first period, English. As I am closing the locker, I jump when I see a girl leaning against the locker beside mine and staring. Her dark hair is cut in a pixie cut, and she has a golden hoop nose ring. Dark eyeshadow with streaks of purple and black completes her ensemble. “Hi, you must be new here, I’m Jasmine,” she introduces herself before plucking my schedule from out of my fingertips. “Ah, Katya,” I tell her, awkwardly, waiting for her to hand it back. “We have most of the same classes. You can follow me if you want, and I will show you around,” she offers, passing me my schedule back. I set it on top of my books. “Thanks, that would be great.” “So you are from Alpha Jackson’s Pack I heard,” she says. I don't reply. Gossip has already started, then again in Pack communities, everybody knows everybody, so that isn’t surprising. “My father is third in command. He heard Alpha Ezra and Beta Mateo talking, so you have Beta genes?” she asks and I nod. Not that they would do any good without a wolf. Chapter 4 “Your mother has quite the reputation, too, the only female warrior in Jackson’s Pack. What was it like living there? Is Alpha Jackson as strict as the rumors say?” “Um, it was okay, just like any other Pack,” I reply with a shrug. “Yeah, well Alpha Ezra hates Alpha Jackson, I was surprised to hear he actually let someone transfer over. Your parents must have pretty good reputations, we haven't had any newcomers in a few years now, the Alpha is very wary of who he lets in. There were even whispers that he was regretting his choice of allowing any new Pack members, so your parents must have impressed him,” she tells me. He didn’t seem wary of us. He wasn’t like anything I expected, honestly. I thought I would be locked in the cells or banished by now, so her words make me a little uncomfortable. Jasmine stops by a green door and motions toward it. “This is our English class, Mr. Tonks is nice but don't be late. He hates tardiness.” I look inside the classroom and unlike the classrooms back in my old Pack, everyone is chatting quietly as they wait for the teacher to arrive. In my old Pack, the students did whatever they liked and were loud and uncontrollable most of the time, so I am a little surprised to see everyone on their best behavior. Jasmine pulls me to an empty desk at the back and I sit beside her. She points out a few different groups of kids chatting. “That group over there are ‘safe’ as I like to call them. They won't cause any trouble,” she cautions, pointing to a bunch of kids talking amongst themselves. They look a little nerdy, not that I care. I am also a bit of a nerd. “Now that group over there, try to avoid them. The blonde girl, her name is Angie and she is a real bitch. Queen Bee of the school as you can probably tell. Just try to coast through the middle like I do and you should be fine,” she says before pointing out a few other smaller groups. A few minutes pass before the teacher comes in, who thankfully doesn't make a fuss about there being a new student, instead he gets straight to work writing on the whiteboard before telling us to copy it. The day passes by in a blur, and for the most part, I did what Jasmine advised, and kept to myself. At lunchtime, I sat out on the oval with her watching as students and teachers set up the training grounds. Nausea fills me knowing I am about to do two hours of training, when suddenly I spot my mother walking out onto the field along with Alpha Ezra. “Does the Alpha help with training?” I ask. “Yeah, he comes every day to help train us. Training is mandatory no matter age or gender,” I watch as Angie, the girl Jasmine told me to avoid, runs across the field towards the Alpha clinging onto him like a leech. “Yeah, Angie has a thing for the Alpha. Seems to think he will choose her as his mate,” Jasmine says and I nod. For some reason, seeing her cling onto him annoys me a little, but I shove it aside, turning my attention back to my lunch. I don’t want any trouble with her, especially if she is as bad as Jasmine says she is. “How old is the Alpha?” I ask. He looks pretty young compared to my last Alpha, who is in his fifties. “Twenty-five. He is a good Alpha, strict but fair. A lot better than his father, who was a complete asshole and more of a dictator.” I bite into my sandwich, watching as the equipment is being set up. “So he took over the Pack when his father stepped down?” I ask. Jasmine shakes her head. “No, Alpha Ezra killed him and took over when he was seventeen.” I think about her words for a minute. To think that the Alpha could take down his father like that at only seventeen. What had been going through his mind? “Geez, a lot wouldn’t have liked answering to a seventeen-year-old,” I quip, but she shakes her head. “No, everyone was glad to see Alpha Dean get taken down. He was cruel. Women weren’t even allowed to train back then, he treated them like animals and he used to kill anyone that stepped out of line, he even killed his own mate, and his chosen one,” she says, making me feel sick at her words. Killing your mate can send your wolf crazed. It was almost impossible to do, though I have heard stories of some being rejected and taking chosen mates, however, it was the first time I had heard of someone killing their mate. “That’s terrible,” I tell her and she nods, popping a grape into her mouth. “Yeah, everyone hated him. Things changed after the Alpha took over. He made sure women could train to better protect themselves. Maybe that's why he was so quick to have your family join our Pack. Your mother will be an advantage to have, and your father - given that he has Beta genes,” I nod my head believing she is right, if he hates Jackson's Pack as much as she claims he does. “Maybe,” I tell her just as Alpha Ezra looks in our direction. I drop my head and am thankful when the school bells ring, signaling the end of lunch. Jasmine and I make our way back to our lockers and grab our gym clothes. Going to the bathroom, we quickly get changed into the red polo shirts and black shorts before heading down to the oval where they were setting up earlier. Alpha Ezra and my mother are talking among a few of the teachers before silence falls over everyone and people walk off to their designated groups. I follow Jasmine over to our age group and am a little shocked to see Alpha Ezra come over to us. Jasmine smiles at him when he approaches. “Hey, Alpha,” she says, giving him a brief wave as she stretches. “Hi Jasmine, you can sit out for today, Kat. That way you can see how things are run if you like,” he says, and I nod, grateful I don’t have to train straight away. “No, she can train like the rest of them,” my mother corrects, coming up behind him. So much for sitting out. Is she trying to get us caught? “She doesn’t have to, Shirley. I can excuse her,” Alpha Ezra says and I give my mother a pleading look. My mother presses her lips in a line but says nothing. “Come sit on the bleachers and watch,” Alpha Ezra tells me, and I follow him over and sit down beside him. I watch everyone train. Alpha Ezra gets up a few times to help some teachers and to correct some students, then he comes back over. He looks down at me. “How are you liking school so far?” “It's fine,” I answer, not really comfortable around him. I see my mother keeps looking over at me nervously, which in turn makes me more nervous about his presence. “Do you train a lot with your mother?” I nod. Training isn’t only compulsory at school in our household, it is almost a damn religion. However, with how much training they have at this school, I hope she will let me off at home. Back at our old Pack, training was only twice a week, here it is daily, except weekends, so maybe she won’t be so strict on that front. “Yes. Mom doesn’t like me missing training as you can see,” I tell him, and he nods. “Good, well you can have today and tomorrow off, but on Wednesday you start training with everyone else,” he orders and I nod. Angie slinks over, stopping in front of us, and I notice the glare she gives me. “You should be training, Angie. Get back on the field,” Ezra demands. “I was just seeing if you can come to help me, Ezra,” she purrs. It’s obvious the crush she has on him and she isn’t even trying to hide it. “That’s Alpha to you! Now get back on the field, Angela,” he tells her, pointing back the way she came. She looks down at me, her eyes narrowing before she saunters off. I know she is going to make my life hell and I haven't even spoken to her yet. “Well, I better get back out there, Kat. I will see you around,” he says, walking off toward my mother, who is now scolding Angie for walking off the field. When training finishes, my mother calls me over. The polite but simmering glare on her face tells me she is upset about something, and trying not to let anyone else know. When I reach her, she grabs my arm, pulling me aside and away from prying ears. “For someone who is meant to be lying low, you seem to be grabbing the Alpha’s attention. Kat, we talked about this. You need to stay away from him and his Beta. We can’t afford for people to know just yet,” she scolds. “Well, maybe if you told them I wouldn’t have to hide,” I snap back. “It isn’t like I sought him out. He approached me.” “Attitude, young lady. I won't handle disrespect,” she growls, and I roll my eyes, regretting it instantly. “Katya, you may be my daughter, but that doesn’t mean you will get away with slacking off, now ten laps of the oval,” she orders. “What? Come on, Mom, you can’t be serious,” I argue back when his sandalwood scent hits me. Alpha Ezra walks up behind me and stops beside me. He obviously saw our dispute, which just makes this entire scenario even more embarrassing. “Everything okay?” he asks my mother. She bows her head in respect before glaring at me. “Yes, Alpha, it will be. Now go, Katya,” she says, pointing to the edge of the field. I take my sweatshirt off before tossing it at her. She can’t be fucking serious. Why was she being like this? My mother growls, catching my sweatshirt and pointing to the edge of the field. “This is bullshit,” I hiss, stomping off. “Make that twenty,” she calls out. I groan, but go to the edge of the field, cursing her name to the moon goddess. “Keep going, Kat, and it will be thirty. Now start running!” I roll my eyes and start doing laps as she shrieks, blowing her damn whistle. Jasmine does a couple with me before getting tired and sitting down. My legs burn by the time I’ve done fifteen, and my lungs feel like they are about to explode. Stopping, I brace my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. My mother blows her whistle, grabbing my attention and I look over at her, sweat drenching me and even my shirt is sticking to me. “Five more, Kat.” “Five more, Kat,” I mimic under my breath while glaring daggers at my mother. I peel my saturated shirt off, tossing it on the grass and leaving me in only my black sports bra. “You want me to add more?” my mother calls out. I shake my head and continue running around the oval. As I run past the bleachers, I notice Alpha Ezra is still here and watching me. Unease prickles up and down my spine. Something has pissed him off, and I bet I know what the answer was. What always seemed to be the answer in my world. Me. I wondered if he figured out I have no wolf and am useless to the Pack.

🇫🇮 🇧🇪 🇵🇱 🇵🇹+4
InactiveJun 27, 26
A twisted obsession that breaks every moral line
Video

website.novelbars.com

A twisted obsession that breaks every moral line

Learn more

Chapter 1 KISAREL. I still heard his cold voice in my head as I stepped out of the taxi. "Get your ass back here in two hours, if you want to keep your new position." Mr. Oceans Stark’s words had a way of following me even in my sleep, like they were branded into my skin. Cold, merciless, and ruthless... Getting promoted from a receptionist to his personal assistant felt less like climbing the ladder and more like walking into a gilded cage. It both excited and terrified me. The pay was beautiful, and the perks were enviable. I would travel with him on business trips, see the world, and for once, escape the mess I’d been born into. But the price of it? Being tied to him almost every second of the day. Mr. Oceans Stark, a man so ruthless he once shredded a senior executive’s twenty-year career in under five minutes without even breaking a sweat. He was escorted out in handcuffs, on charges Mr. Stark’s lawyers dug up overnight. One day, the man was running meetings, the next he was begging for bail money. By then, everyone knew: one wrong step, and he could erase you from your career, your reputation, maybe even your freedom. Still, today calls for celebration. And I had just about an hour to celebrate my new promotion with my fiancé, Jace, before packing my bags and meeting my boss at his private jet for our first business trip together. I had already rehearsed every line I'd say to Jace the moment I pushed his door open. He hadn’t answered my calls, but that only made the surprise sweeter. Ja-ce always told me to let him know before visiting — rules I followed without question because I loved him, and because he said he loved me too. He was obsessive and possessive in ways I found... Thrilling? I never said no to him. Never once. But today, just once, I would. I clutched the promotion letter like it was a trophy, and walked through the gates with a smile so wide even the guard seemed taken aback. "Good evening," I greeted, but he answered me in a weird kind of way that I didn't really want to read meanings into. I adjusted my round glasses, clutching my handbag securely to my shoulder. The moment I pushed the front door open, I came face to face with Tisha, the very maid Jace had refused to let go of, no matter how many times I'd told him I didn't like her. She seemed not to like me either, but tonight her face carried something different — pity, like I’d already lost a game I didn’t know I was playing. “Hey…” Her voice was softer than I’d ever heard it, the word dragged out like a quiet warning. That was strange. “Hi, Tisha,” I replied, already heading for the stairs. “He’s in, right?” Not that I needed an answer. She hesitated, wringing the edge of her apron. “You… might want to wait down here.” She stuttered, and I almost scoffed. "Why?" I paused and looked at her over my shoulder, but she just stood there like she had seen a ghost. I'd be a liar if I said uneasiness hadn't begun to spread through me at the weird behaviors of the staff. My heart picked up an erratic rhythm, the kind that makes your palms sweat and your breath shorten, no matter how much you try to calm yourself. My rehearsed smile faltered instantly. But I took in a shaky breath and told myself I was only being dramatic. If Jace were in any kind of danger, it would have been on the news already. So... No news... Meaning he was fine. I forced a smile for myself, tightened my grip on the letter, and continued walking, even though my breath kept stuttering as though my own body knew a truth my mind didn't know. The moment I approached his door, my legs went weak as I stopped dead in my tracks. I heard something... A sound that made my stomach cave in on itself "Fuck, baby, open up..." a moan, "Just like that. Fuck." That was Jace's voice. It sounded more like a grunt and a moan put together. It wasn’t just his moan that punched my heart — it was the rawness of it, the sound of him unraveling in ways he had never once done with me. Then I heard a voice that wasn’t mine. "Jace... Yes, baby... Right there..." And that was... That was Moonie. My oh-so-perfect cousin. The one who was supposed to be walking down the aisle with my boss, Mr. Oceanss Stark, in a matter of weeks. My eyes became blurry, and my brain blurred too, because I didn't even know when I moved. My legs propelled me straight to the door, and my trembling hands gripped the knob before my brain could scream Don’t. I pushed the door open with so much force that the hinges rattled. And then the floor seemed to vanish beneath me, as I saw my fiancé and the "perfect" woman my boss was crazy about, lying totally naked on the floor. She was on her hands and knees, hair wild, her head thrown back in shameless pleasure. Jace’s hands clamped her hips, driving into her with a hunger he had never once touched me with. My chest constricted, and my breath vanished as I struggled to speak. "Jesus, Jace!" Try as I may, my voice only came out as a shaky whisper. Jace froze. For a full second, he just stared at me, pale and stupid, before he jerked away from her and started fumbling for his shorts. Moonie didn’t even flinch. She just dropped onto the floor, panting, her hair sticking to her sweaty face like she’d just finished a workout. The air in the room was thick and sour. I could hear my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. “What the hell is this?” My voice cracked halfway through. I was shaking so badly that the letter in my hand fluttered to the carpet. Jace pulled the towel from the chair and wrapped it around his waist. “Arel — listen — it’s not —” "What I think?" I scoffed and completed the words for him. “Not you inside my cousin?” I snapped, my throat burning. Moonie laughed, letting out a low, ugly sound that scraped at my skin. “Oh, cut the bullshit, Jace. She walked in on us. The show’s over.” “Shut the fuck up, Moonie,” he barked, eyes wild. She rose slowly, completely unbothered, stretching her neck like a cat. “What did you expect, Kisarel? You really thought you could keep a man like Jace? Please.” She grabbed her dress from the vanity and slipped it on without looking away from me. “You’ve been too busy playing the good girl — glasses, neat hair, that stupid receptionist job — acting like brains make you desirable. Meanwhile, this man has needs. Real ones.” My stomach twisted. “Stop talking.” She stepped closer. “He told me himself. Said you’re boring in bed, that you blush when he touches you, that you act like sex is a favor instead of a need.” “Moonie, I swear to God…” Jace’s voice came out like a growl. She turned on him, smirking. “What? You’re going to hit me now? You already said you didn’t love her. Remember? You said even after we both get married, we’ll keep this going. Those were your words, baby.” Jace lunged, grabbing her arm. “Shut up!” I just stood there, watching the two of them — him, red-faced and desperate, her, grinning as if she’d already won. Something cold spread through my chest until I couldn’t even feel my fingers. “You both disgust me,” I said quietly. “Arel, please...” Jace took a step toward me. “Don’t.” My voice snapped. “Don’t come near me.” He froze. The look on his face — panic, guilt, something like fear — made me want to scream. Instead, I laughed, "Was this why you said I should always inform you before visiting? Oh, God." I broke down. I wanted to run until my lungs gave out, hide somewhere no one knew my name, bury my face in a pillow that didn’t smell like him, and cry until my throat burned. But everything I owned reminded me of Jace. The sheets, the pillow, the stupid mug he bought for my desk. I’d built my entire life around him these past two years, and now every inch of it felt contaminated. Moonie tilted her head, “You’ll thank me one day. At least now you know what he really wants. Maybe start by dressing like a woman, not a twelve-year-old schoolboy. Jace hates your boring cardigans, big, shapeless gowns, and baggy skirts.” My heart shattered again. Because Jace always told me he loved my clothes — that he liked that no man ever saw what was his. I blinked at him, my voice small. “So that was a lie, too?” He looked away, jaw tight, saying nothing. I turned my attention to Moon, “You’re engaged to Mr. Stark, Moonie. Aren’t you even scared I might tell him about this?” She laughed mockingly, “Oh, please. You? Tell him? You’ve never had the spine for that. You're just a pushover. The weak little orphan who should’ve been grateful we didn’t dump you in some shelter.” She took a step closer, gazing dead into my eyes. Her tone was like acid. Every word burned. I felt the sting crawl up my throat, but I bit it back. She wanted to see me break. “And I know you won't do anything to tarnish the image of the family who took you in when your pathetic parents decided to check out early, and left you in this world to suffer!" The vernon in her voice. God. "So, dear Kisarel, you won’t say a word. You never do. That’s why people like me win and people like you just… exist." She got me there. I owed Moon and her parents my life. I truly did. But God, I didn’t owe them my dignity. And let's see how far this goes. I picked up my promotion letter. There was no point sharing the great news anymore. The celebration died the moment I opened that door. I turned to Jace. He couldn’t even meet my eyes. “You know what’s fun-ny? I used to think you were the one person who’d never humiliate me. Guess I was wrong.” He reached for me again, stammering my name, but I stepped back. The movement felt like tearing myself out of glue. “Don’t ever call me again.” Now more than ever, I needed that business trip I had cursed some hours ago. Chapter 2 KISAREL. The cab stopped at the far end of the airport, where regular passengers weren’t even allowed. Through the tinted glass, I saw the silver body of Mr. Stark’s jet gleaming under the floodlights, his initials, O.S., painted near the tail. I wiped my face, grabbed the small luggage I’d thrown together after getting home from the betrayal scene, and stepped out. Since Moon's words about my choice of clothes, I began to doubt myself. I felt... Stupid and inadequate. I’d always thought I was beautiful — Jace said so a thousand times — but maybe I was never enough. Maybe I was the joke everyone else saw, and he just forgot to tell me. For all I know, I might even be the ugliest woman on earth right now. I tried to take off my glasses – not that they were medicated or anything – but I felt naked without them. So, I left them on. Trying to be who I was not made me feel even more stupid. The air was cold, but the moment I saw him, heat crept up the back of my neck. Mr. Oceans Stark. He stood beside the stairs to his jet, hands in his pockets, suit pressed within an inch of perfection. Even from here, he radiated total control. He wasn’t the kind of man you looked at twice. You looked once — because you couldn’t help it — and then you looked away before he caught you staring. Six foot three of controlled violence in a perfectly tailored suit. Broad shoulders, dark hair brushed back in a way that didn’t dare fall out of place, and those eyes… cold, emotionless, like they could undress you, dissect you, and dismiss you in one motion. "Good evening, Mr. Stark," I managed. He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at me, a faint arch in his brow like the sound of my voice had interrupted his thoughts, and he was deciding whether to forgive that or not. Then his gaze flicked down, slowly assessing me. Jesus. I greeted his best friend, who was also his MD. "Mr. Harold." He managed half a smile before turning back to his phone. Of course, no one noticed this pathetic little girl trying to hold herself together during the hour-and-a-half flight. No one ever did. Inside the hotel lobby, I adjusted my blazer and forced my hands to stop trembling as I faced the receptionist. “Reservation for Mr. Stark, Mr. Harold, and Miss Harry,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice. The woman smiled politely, then glanced at the fourth member of our group, Mandy, Harold’s girlfriend. Perfect and glossy as ever. “Oh, they’re together.” I gestured toward them, pretending confidence I didn’t feel. God, my eyes were becoming teary again. I just needed a room, a bathtub, and a place to cry without witnesses. After a moment, the receptionist frowned at the screen. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s no reservation under Miss Harry. Only Mr. Stark and Mr. Harold.” My pulse jumped. “What?” Behind me, that low, rich, controlled baritone rolled out. “Then make one.” Mr. Stark. I swallowed hard, staring at the counter. Even his voice had a certain effect on me that I had come to categorize as "fear," even though it doesn't fit that category. The clerk looked uneasy. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re fully booked for the night.” Of course. The National Electorate Conference will be taking place tomorrow. Every powerful name in the country was under this roof tonight. My stomach dropped. I must have forgotten to complete the reservation while I was busy calling Jace… before everything fell apart. I didn’t dare turn around. I could feel Mr. Stark’s gaze drilling through my spine. My palms were damp; my mind blank. “I... I'll find something... Another hotel...” "Hand us the key cards." I finally turned around, and the look in his eyes told me one thing clearly: I’d pay for this mistake. * Staying in the same room with Mr. Stark didn't even give me the alone time I looked forward to spending in a bathtub. I barely showered properly. My instincts kept flying around: What if Mr. Stark opens the bathroom door? What if I see a ghost and run out naked? What if... Every stupid possibility raced through my head until my heart started skipping beats. The idea of sharing a suite with the infamous Ocean Stark made every nerve in my body hum with panic. Although I cried a little, wiped my face, and did what any heartbroken idiot does at 11 p.m. — googled how to get over betrayal. The answers were ridiculous. ‘Go out with friends.’ I had none. ‘Do something spontaneous.’ I could barely breathe. ‘Revenge sex.’ I snorted out loud at that one. Revenge sex? With who? Jace was the only man I’d ever let close. No male friends, no flings, no one. Just me — pathetic, faithful, and now apparently obsolete. By the time I pulled myself together, Mr. Stark was seated on the couch, surrounded by files and his laptop, a half-empty glass of something dark sitting beside him. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms and the faint outline of veins that matched the precision in his movements. Everything about him was neat and intentional. And I always resisted the urge to admit how illegally handsome he was. I guess I had no right to even admit such a thing. It felt so wrong. I sat in the armchair beside him, careful not to brush against him. The distance between us was small but heavy, like sitting beside a thunderstorm before it breaks. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling. My chest still ached from everything I’d tried to bury, and somehow his calm made it worse. He hadn’t looked at me once since we entered the suite, not even during the flight. That was the thing about Ocean Stark — he could make you feel completely invisible while reminding you you’re being watched. We worked in silence. I was sorting out schedules when my phone buzzed beside me. Once. Twice. Then again — Jace’s name flashing on the screen. I froze, praying my boss hadn’t noticed. "Turn that off." His voice. That voice again. It sent a trail of goosebumps running down my arms. Thankfully, I was wearing a big polo shirt, so he wouldn't see it. I fumbled for the phone, thumbs slipping as I silenced it. I didn’t dare look up, but I could feel his eyes on me now. There was silence, making it difficult to hide the soft sobs and sniffles that were choking me and threatening to spill. “If you can’t compartmentalize, you’ll never last.” His chilling voice said, and I paused. For a second, I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined them. My heart skipped, then tripped over itself. I looked up slowly. His eyes — cold, grey, unreadable — met mine. I swallowed a dry lump as a tear escaped my eye. “I… I’m sorry?” My voice came out thin, breaking on the last syllable. He leaned back against the couch, posture unbothered. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, the faintest shadow of muscle visible beneath. His veins shifted under the light as he picked up another file. “Boyfriend issues?” he asked without looking away. My cheeks burned. "Yes... Uhm..." I sniffed, wiping my tears off as they fell freely now. "Yes." He studied me like he was analyzing numbers, not a person. “Caught him cheating?” I was tempted to scream and tell him, 'Yes, I caught him cheating with your fiancée!' but, just like Moon said, I could never. I owe her family that much. So, I swallowed and just gave a polite nod. He didn’t blink. “You’ll live. Pull yourself together and get back to work.” And that was it. No softness, no sympathy. Just dismissal. Still… he’d asked. Ocean Stark had actually spoken to me beyond orders. For a man who could end careers with a phone call, even that tiny fragment of attention felt dangerous. Was that concern or a warning? I couldn’t tell. My throat itched to keep the next words that threatened to come out of my mouth, but it failed, because I heard my own voice ask the most stupid question ever. "Do you think I am weak, Mr. Stark?" He froze mid-page. A faint crease appeared between his brows. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop with him, and my pulse was the only sound I could hear. “Do you?” he asked, still not looking up. “Do I what?” My voice wavered. “Think you’re weak.” He slowly peeled his gaze from the files, and his chilling eyes rested on me. The movement was so small, but it felt like the whole room leaned toward him. I almost slid into a panic attack. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “Maybe.” “What are you trying to prove, Miss Harry?” “I’m not sure,” I said. He studied me then like he was trying to decide if I was unstable or simply honest. “You’re crying over a man who isn’t worth the data it would take to delete his name from your phone,” he said. “That’s not weakness, that’s misallocation of focus.” I almost laughed. “So what would you recommend, Mr. Stark? Reallocate my focus?” “Yes.” His tone was flat and businesslike, as if we were still talking about quarterly losses. But something in his eyes shifted — interest, maybe curiosity. It made my stomach twist. I ran my tongue over my dry lips, "Mr. Stark...?" I called, but he only answered with his steady eyes on mine, “Do you…” My voice faltered, but I forced it out, “Do you really love my cousin?” I knew I was playing with fire. Such boldness? I'd never displayed it anywhere near my boss before. And I was terrified he was even entertaining me. “No.” Two letters. A brutally honest answer that shocked me. I blinked. “What?” My whisper cracked. “Why? But I thought…” His mouth curved in something close to contempt. He stood to his feet. "You want to know the truth?" He asked flatly, and I nodded, my gaze lifted up to meet his. "Because my heart only belongs to one woman. I've been searching for her for years now. And when I find her...?" He paused, and some muscle in his cheek twitched, like he was holding back more words. "What? You'll dump my cousin?" I found myself asking... Not because I care. But maybe I also wanted Moonie to suffer the way she'd made me suffer all these years. And I wanted her suffering to come naturally. He exhaled through his nose, "Your cousin is strictly business." With that, he made to walk away. The finality in his tone should have shut me up. Instead, something hot and reckless surged up my throat. I stood as he turned to go. “Wait.” He stopped. Slowly, he turned his head and gave me that look that meant, 'the audacity?' Too late to back down. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. "Mr. Stark... I need a favor from you." I stood in front of him now, feeling so small and breakable before him. “I want…” I swallowed hard, hating the tremor in my throat. “I want to do something that reminds me I’m not weak.” His brows narrowed like he could read through me. He didn’t answer. Just watched me. The grey in his eyes looked darker now, colder, like deep water that could drown a person without a ripple. "Take me tonight. I want to forget all about Jace. Please don't say no." Chapter 3 KISAREL. The silence stretched so long it felt like punishment. He didn’t blink. He wasn't even looking at me anymore. He kept looking over my head like looking at me up close would kill him. I know this was reckless. I mean... The last time I did something this reckless was when I took a bullet for a stranger without even thinking. “Careful,” he said finally, “You have no idea what you’re asking for.” I drew in a shaky breath, “I know exactly what I’m asking for,” I whispered. That was when he looked at me fully. For the first time ever, I really understood why everyone feared Ocean Stark. He didn’t even need to speak to feel like danger. All he had to do was listen. I'd never looked at him so up close before. And my heart refused to stop racing when his eyes pinned me to the spot. "I don't fuck my employees, Kiss." My knees almost buckled at the way he bit off the word Fuck. Heat crawled up my neck to my cheeks. And… had he just called me Kiss? Moisture stung the corner of my eyes. "No one would know... I swear... Just this once. Let's be like two strangers who just hooked up for the night," I swallowed, searching his eyes. This was a stupid move, but I couldn't go back now. His gaze flicked down, then back to my eyes. I could almost feel the war happening inside him. "You don't get it, Kisarel." He took a step forward, closing what little space there was between us. My breath hitched as I tried to look away, but his fingers quickly caught my chin and forced my gaze to remain on his. “I’m getting married to your cousin,” he said softly. “And I don’t do scandals. Go to bed, hug your pillow, and cry about your boyfriend, before you ruin both of us.” The closeness made me dizzy, like stepping too close to fire. The crown of my head barely touched his lower chin. His voice was firm, but his pulse? I could see it beating hard at the side of his neck. "No one will ever know," I said and dared to push further, "Unless you're scared you can't match up with the man I am trying to forget... Sir?" With those words, I saw his eyes turn a shade darker, and something dangerous swirled in their depths. Before I could form another word, Mr. Stark wrapped his fingers around my neck and slammed my back against the nearest wall. “Do you always play with fire this way?” His voice had changed. Whatever cold professionalism lived in it during office hours was gone. Now it was rougher, colder and more detached. “Only when I’ve already been burned,” I whispered. I don't know where that came from. Some part of me that had stopped calculating risk somewhere between Jace's bedroom floor and this hotel room. Some part of me that had decided that if tonight was going to hurt regardless, it may as well hurt for something I chose. He looked at me for a long moment. Something moved in his jaw. His thumb pressed lightly against my pulse point and I felt my own heartbeat betray me. "You know what you want. You don't know what I take." His eyes moved over my face with no urgency at all, which was somehow more frightening than anger. His voice dropped to a near growl, "You want to get fucked by me?" He said through clenched teeth, like a lion whose ego was just tested. "Do you know what it means to get fucked by me?" My hands flew to his wrists, struggling against his grip. Instead, his free hand moved to the wall beside my head, and he leaned in slowly until there was almost no space left between us. I could feel the heat coming off him, and my heart was doing something embarrassing and uncontrollable that I was certain he could feel in his palm. "That little cunt of yours will get bruised by me. I don't make love. I'll fuck you so hard you'll beg for me to stop." He pressed me harder into the wall, “When I fuck, I don’t stop because you cry. I don’t stop because you can’t take it. I stop when I’m done. I’ll bruise you. Break you open until you forget every man who ever touched you before me. You won’t walk right for days.” His breathing turned ragged. "I won’t just fuck you, Kisarel. I’ll get inside your head and twist until the thought of anyone else feels wrong. I’ll become the ache you can’t cure, the ghost you’ll beg to haunt you again.” He leaned closer, his breath hot against my mouth. "One night won't be enough. Not for me. I want you to know that before you make this decision, because I won't pretend otherwise in the morning." My breath caught. "So…” His teeth grazed my jaw as his fingers tightened on my throat. “You still want to fuck with me, Kiss?” God, his threats terrified me. But right now, the rational part of me was dead. All I wanted was to forget about Jace tonight. "I want to see you try, sir," I blurted out the dare, pushing him to his limits. For a second, he didn't move. Then his hand slid to the back of my neck, and he crushed his lips against mine, kissing me so hard I almost lost my breath. "You'll be sorry you made this decision." *** OCEANS. Fuck. I’d been doing everything to keep the little, hot nerd-looking girl out of my line of sight, and fate kept shoving her back under it. When the board thought she was due for promotion and deemed my office the right place to insert her, that was when I knew I was fucked. Since the moment I set eyes on this girl, my cock forgot what dignity was. Always jerking like a damn teenager every time she walked in. The smell of her hair brings back memories that had been tormenting me for the past six years. I was getting married to her cousin. And she was getting married to a man whose head I could put a bullet through, just for being the one who owned her. I fought that lust I felt toward her. I buried it. Smothered it. Because the last time I got involved with an employee, it nearly cost me my legacy. Since then, I’d drawn a hard line. No mixing business with anything that had a pulse and a paycheck I signed. But right now — seeing the same woman who’d pulled something wild and starving out of me — standing in front of me, desperate, trembling, asking for the one thing my body had always craved? That was a temptation straight from hell that even the finest of God's angels would fall for without looking back. I tried to turn her down. I fucking did. That should have been the end of it. I tried to turn away, because that's what a man with functioning self-control does. I had work on the table. I had a flight the next day. I had a rule I shouldn't ignore, and I had exactly enough scotch in my system to drown out that rule, which meant I needed distance more than I needed to look at her. But she pushed really hard. And my control — usually bulletproof — buckled. "You'll do every fucking thing I say without question. Understood?" I warned her, and she nodded hesitantly, "Use your words, Kiss." She swallowed, and my tongue darted out and licked the movement that formed in her throat. She shuddered, "Yes, sir." "Good girl." I pressed into her mouth again. Harder. She tasted like heat and salt and bad decisions. Her scent and softness tried to swallow me whole. Fuck. I was doing all I could not to break her. She seemed so fragile, the crown of her head barely scraping my jawline. I pulled her off the wall and broke the kiss before I lost the rest of my senses. She was panting. Her small, plump lips were red and swollen. Her eyes were blown wide behind those damn glasses. I took them off. " Don't ever wear that shit again." Up close, without the frames, she was lethal. Big blue, almond eyes. Innocence and naivety dancing in them. I took her lips again, letting my hand roam all over her body — flat over ribs, curve of waist, the line of her hip - and what I felt made me curse against her lips. Those loose skirts and gowns she wore to work were lies. There was nothing shy under there. Every inch of her was pure fucking heaven. A full, high ass in my palms, hips that filled my grip, a body cut to make a man forget his rules. Jesus. I almost lost it. Her fingers clutched my shirt, tugging desperately. And when she whimpered, I knew it was over. I pulled away again, forcing a breath past my teeth. My body screamed to stay pressed to hers, but I needed space. Needed to see exactly what I was about to burn my life down for. Her chest rose and fell in ragged little jerks. "Strip," I growled and stepped back to the couch, pouring myself a glass of whiskey as I sat and watched her fingers shake as she reached for the hem of that oversized shirt. God. Who the hell wore something like that to bed? A shapeless tent that only made me want to rip it off. The shirt hit the floor. The shorts followed. She stood before me, naked, with some white cotton pants that did it's best to cover every corner of her ass like it was a secret she was trying so hard to hide. Her bra didn't look like something I'd choose for a young girl, if asked. But the body in those underwears...? Any man alive would kill to have that body under him, screaming his name. I dragged a thumb across my lower lip, staring at her. My cock throbbed so hard it hurt. “Kneel.” My voice dropped into something darker than a command. She narrowed her brows, a thousand questions probably swirling in her head, but one look from me, and she dropped all that hesitation. And the moment her knees hit the floor, something in me went feral. That submission. Fuck. Her hands were at her sides. Head bowed, hair sliding forward like a curtain. Christ. Seeing her like that — trembling, skin goose-pimpled, chest rising and falling as she tried to breathe — made my restraint splinter. I set the whiskey down without looking away from her. My palms flattened on my knees as I leaned forward. "Now, crawl to me."

🇬🇧
InactiveJun 27, 26
🔥🔥 Click to Read 👉🏻👉🏻

b.floread.com

🔥🔥 Click to Read 👉🏻👉🏻

Learn more

I checked the security camera footage and discovered every Tuesday afternoon, our neighbor, Kirston, dressed well, came over, and had intercourse with my husband. I started scrolling backward through the footage. Three days earlier. Tuesday. 1:47 PM. Jake put his hand on a beautiful woman's lower back and guided her through the door. I recognized her immediately. Kirsten Vance, she lived thirty feet from my front door. They...cheated... My throat tightened. Then I scrolled back to the week before. Same day of the week. Tuesday. 1:52 PM. Kirsten again. This time, Jake was shirtless. She put her hand flat on his bare chest. He looked down at her with hunger. He pulled her inside by the wrist. Jake snored through the bathroom wall. I sobbed on the cold floor, due to his affair. Two weeks before that. Tuesday. 2:01 PM. And there he was, on my porch, pecking the neighbor's wife with his hands on her hips and her arms around his neck. I scrolled through weeks. Through months. Every Tuesday, the same pattern. Kirsten arriving between 1:30 and 2:00 PM. Sixteen arrivals. I sat on the edge of the bathtub in the dark, tears flowed down. The grief lasted ninety seconds. Then it converted. The neighborhood block party was in twelve days. Kirsten was building a slideshow. And I had sixteen Tuesdays of footage. The game began... ———————— Reagan I knew something was wrong the way you always know — not all at once, but in the small things that don't add up until suddenly they're the only things that do. It was a Tuesday when I came home to a clean house. Not my kind of clean, where everything has a place and the counters smell like the lavender spray I keep next to the paper towels. This was panic clean. Lemon Pine-Sol, the bottle I kept under the sink that Jake had never once reached for in three years of marriage, suddenly half-empty and working overtime on every surface in the kitchen. The dishes were put away — actually put away, in the right cabinets, not just rinsed and abandoned in the drying rack. The couch pillows were fluffed and centered. The blanket I kept folded over the armrest was refolded. Jake didn't fold things. Jake didn't fluff things. Jake didn't know our throw pillows had a front and a back, and he certainly didn't know that the navy ones went on the outside and the cream ones went in the middle. But there they were, arranged like a magazine spread by a man who once asked me why we needed "so many little pillows that nobody sits on." He was on the couch when I walked in, showered and relaxed in a way that didn't match a man who'd supposedly been working all day. Pharma sales. Flexible schedule. The kind of job that sounded impressive at dinner parties and meant absolutely nothing in practice — he set his own hours, made his own calls, and as far as I could tell, spent most of his work-from-home days cycling between ESPN and DoorDash. "Hey, babe. Long shift?" I'd been on my feet for twelve hours. I'd started the day holding pressure on a nineteen-year-old's femoral artery while a trauma surgeon tried to save what was left of his leg after a motorcycle turned left in front of him doing sixty. The surgeon saved the leg. The kid coded an hour later in the ICU and we lost him anyway. I clocked out at seven with my knees aching and my scrub top stiff with someone else's blood. "Long shift," I said. "There's Thai in the fridge. I ordered around seven." He'd ordered Thai. For one. At seven o'clock, while I was changing out of bloody scrubs in the locker room and leaning my forehead against the cold metal of my locker trying to remember what it felt like to not be tired. He hadn't texted. Hadn't called. Hadn't asked if I wanted him to keep a plate warm or leave the porch light on. I ate cold pad Thai standing at the kitchen counter — the counter that smelled like Pine-Sol and wrongness — and I told myself I was imagining things. Told myself I was just tired. Told myself that a clean house was a nice thing, a thoughtful thing, the kind of thing I'd been asking Jake to do for three years. Maybe he'd finally listened. Maybe this was him trying. I went to bed and he was already asleep, turned away from me, breathing the slow, satisfied breath of a man with nothing on his conscience. I lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling and thought: since when does Jake try? The package is what cracked it open. Two days later I was expecting a delivery — a compression sleeve for the knee that had been grinding since a ten-hour shift the week before. The tracking said delivered. Left at front door, 2:14 PM. But when I got home the porch was bare, and when I asked Jake about it over dinner he barely looked up from his phone. "Nah, nothing came. Probably got stolen. Happens all the time on this street." It didn't happen all the time on this street. It had never happened on this street. We lived in Riverside Heights, the kind of neighborhood where people left their garage doors open and waved at each other from their driveways and posted in the group chat if they saw an unfamiliar car parked too long. Nobody was stealing packages. But Jake said it with the easy confidence of a man used to being believed, and I almost let it go. Almost. That night, after Jake fell asleep, I sat on the edge of the bathtub with my phone and opened the Ring app. The doorbell camera — the one Jake had insisted on installing when we moved in, back when he still did things like care about the house — recorded everything that happened on our front porch. Motion-activated, cloud-stored, timestamped. I scrubbed to 2:14 PM. There was the delivery driver. There was my package, set neatly on the welcome mat. There was my front porch, empty and ordinary in the afternoon light. Then 2:20 PM. The door opened. Jake stepped out in basketball shorts and bare feet, picked up the package, tucked it under his arm, and walked back inside. He'd taken my package. Told me it was stolen. Looked me in the eye over leftover chicken and lied about a compression sleeve, of all things, and I still didn't know why. Maybe he'd opened it by accident and thrown it away. Maybe he'd put it somewhere and forgotten. But the lie was there now, small and sharp as a splinter, and I couldn't stop pressing on it. I sat in the bathroom with the blue glow of my phone lighting up the tile and I did something I'd never done before. I started scrolling backward through the footage. Not looking for anything specific. Not expecting anything. Just looking. The way you touch a bruise to see how deep it goes. I wish I'd stopped. ..... The first clip confused me more than it scared me. Three days earlier. Tuesday. 1:47 PM. A woman walked up our front path in a sundress and wedge sandals, her hair blown out and shining in the afternoon light. She didn't ring the bell. Didn't knock. She took out her phone, typed something — a text — and three seconds later the front door opened from inside. Jake, smiling. Not the smile he gave me when I came home from a shift, the tired half-smile that said oh, you're here. A real smile. Wide and warm and directed at this woman like she was the thing he'd been waiting for all day. He put his hand on her lower back and guided her through the door and it closed behind them. I recognized her immediately. I would have recognized her from space. Kirsten Vance lived thirty feet from my front door. She was the woman who'd brought us banana bread the week we moved in, who organized the block parties and the holiday cookie exchanges, who ran the neighborhood group chat with cheerful efficiency and posted reminders about recycling day and whose trash cans were still at the curb. She taught yoga. She had an Instagram following — not huge, but dedicated — full of stories about alignment and showing up for yourself and choosing peace. She'd suggested book club. She'd invited me on neighborhood walks. She'd hugged me at the last cookout, both hands on my shoulders, big smile, and said we should do this more, just the two of us, I feel like I never see you. She'd been seeing my husband. While I was at work seeing the worst moments of strangers' lives. But I told myself it was nothing. I was sitting on the edge of my bathtub in a dark bathroom at eleven at night and I told myself that neighbors visit each other. People borrow things, drop things off, have conversations in kitchens. Kirsten was on the HOA social committee. Maybe she needed Jake's input on the block party layout. Maybe she was returning a casserole dish. There were a hundred innocent explanations. I could have closed the app and gone to bed and woken up tomorrow and never looked again. I scrolled back to the week before. Same day of the week. Tuesday. 1:52 PM. Kirsten again. Same approach — the text, the three-second wait, the door opening from inside. But this time Jake was shirtless. Not coming-from-the-gym shirtless. Fresh-from-the-shower shirtless, hair damp, towel still draped across his shoulders like he'd cleaned up for company. Like he'd prepared. She put her hand flat on his bare chest. Left it there. He looked down at her hand and then at her face, and the expression he gave her — I had been married to this man for three years and I had never once seen that expression directed at me. The hunger in it. The focus. Like she was the only thing in the frame worth seeing. Like everything outside of her had gone soft and blurry and she was the only part of his life in high definition. He pulled her inside by the wrist. The door closed. I could hear Jake snoring through the bathroom wall. Sleeping in my bed, in my house, ten feet away from me while I sat on cold porcelain and watched him pull another woman through my front door with the eagerness of a man who'd been counting the minutes until she arrived. My hands were shaking badly enough that I almost dropped the phone. I scrolled back again. Two weeks before that. Tuesday. 2:01 PM. This time the pecking happened on the porch. Not inside, not in the doorway — out in the open, in full daylight, on the front steps of the house I'd bought with my own money before I ever met Jake Holt. Three years of ER overtime, doubles on holidays, every extra shift the charge nurse would give me. I'd saved since I was twenty-four. I'd done the inspection and the closing and signed the papers myself. It was the first thing I'd ever owned that was entirely mine, and Jake had moved in after the wedding because my house was bigger than his apartment, not the other way around. And there he was, on my porch, pecking the neighbor's wife with his hands on her hips and her arms around his neck. Not a quick pecking. Not an accident. His mouth was open and his fingers were pressing into the fabric of her dress and she was rising up on her toes to reach him and it went on and on and on, eight seconds, ten, twelve, long enough for the camera's motion sensor to decide nothing new was happening and stop recording.

InactiveJun 27, 26
😍What happens next👉Click Here to read on👉
Video

website.novelbars.com

😍What happens next👉Click Here to read on👉

Learn more

I've hated Dante Cross for 1,095 days. Every. Single. One. Three years ago, Dante Cross got Harper Vaughn's father fired–ruining her family and shattering her trust in men forever. Now he's the Seattle Storm's golden captain, and she's the team psychologist forced to fix his messes. When Harper's ex launches a smear campaign to destroy her career, and Dante's own scandal explodes across every headline, he does the unthinkable. He asks her to be his fake girlfriend. She'll wear his jersey. Kiss him goodnight for the paparazzi. Share his bed when the team travels. All while remembering exactly why she swore to hate him forever. She should say no. She wants to say no. But desperation makes liars of them all. Because she's desperate. Because she needs this. Because for six months, she can pretend to love him... and make him pay for every second of it. ------------------------------ Harper's POV I can do this. I have been working for Seattle Storm for three months, successfully avoided that terrible, indescribable monster named Dante Cross. Until…today. Marcus Kane's voice still echoes in my head from twenty minutes ago: mandatory one-on-one psychological evaluations for all players, starting with the captain, starting today, starting in two hours. No exceptions. I tried to argue. Told Kane that Dante's performance metrics were excellent, his leadership scores off the charts, no red flags whatsoever. Kane just gave me that look, the one that says he knows exactly what I'm doing and he's not having it. "Everyone, Harper. No exceptions." So here I am, sitting in my office with the door open, tablet on my lap, trying to look professional instead of like a woman about to face the person who destroyed her family. The observation room above the practice rink has been my sanctuary these past three months. I can watch the team, @n@lyze their dynamics, A$$ess their mental states, all from behind glA$$ where no one notices me staring. Where I can deliberately not look at number 9 as he skates through drills with that same fluidity he had at eighteen. I've gotten good at not looking at him. I've gotten good at a lot of things since I took this job. Compartmentalizing. Maintaining professional distance. Pretending the past doesn't claw at my throat every time I walk into this building. My phone buzzes. I glance down; three missed calls from Mom's neurologist. My stomach twists. I silence it, make a mental note to call back after this session. After I survive sitting in a room with Dante Cross and pretending I'm a functional human being. The medication prior authorization was denied again last week. I already know what the neurologist is calling about. Another appeal, another fight with insurance, another month of watching my bank account drain while I pray nothing changes before the approval goes through. Fifty-four hundred dollars a month for the drvgs that keep my mother's MS from stealing her ability to walk. I have thirty-two hundred in my checking account and two thousand in savings that I'm not supposed to touch. I need this job. Need the salary, the benefits, the insurance that means my mother gets to keep her independence for a few more years. Which means I need to sit across from Dante Cross in approximately ten minutes and do my job without letting three years of rage show on my face. I can do this. I've done harder things. Except I haven't, not really. I've avoided harder things. Blocked his phone numbers, refused explanations, built walls so high that even thinking about that day makes my ch3st tight. The day I watched my father walk out of this building, shoulders slumped, eyes hollow. The day everything we had crumbled because Dante Cross decided his lies mattered more than the man who'd been a father to him when his own wouldn't. I close my eyes, force myself to breathe. Professional. Stay Professional Harper. I am Dr. Harper Vaughn, sports psychologist with a doctorate from Columbia, three years of clinical experience, published research on athlete mental health and performance optimization. I am qualified for this position. I earned this position. I catch my reflection in the darkened computer screen. Dark brown hair pulled back in my usual low ponytail, not a strand out of place. Hazel eyes that look more green than gold today, rimmed with my dark circles that no amount of concealer can fully hide. I bit my lips, tapping my heel against the wooden floor. The fact that my last name is Vaughn is irrelevant. The fact that my father used to coach here is irrelevant. The fact that the team captain destroyed my family is— Footsteps in the hallway. My spine straightens automatically. I open my tablet, pull up the blank evaluation form, arrange my face into som3thing neutral and professional. Yes, I know, I have repeated professional more than ten times. The footsteps stop outside my door. I don't look up. Not yet. Let him wait. Let him see that I'm busy, that this is just another appointment, that he doesn't matter. Except my hands are shaking slightly and I grip the tablet tighter to hide it. "Dr. Vaughn." His voice. Deeper than I remember, rougher. I haven't heard him say my name in three years. I look up. Dante Cross fills my doorway. Six-foot-three of lean muscle and arrogant certainty, dirty blond hair still damp from practice, ice-blue eyes that see too much. He's wearing Storm workout gear, muscular arms crossed over his ch3st, leaning against the doorframe like he owns the building. He probably does, in all the ways that matter. Our eyes meet. The air shifts, charges with som3thing I refuse to name. Three years of silence crashes between us. Three years of blocked numbers and avoided hallways and careful scheduling to never be in the same room. All of it, shattered. I force my voice steady. "Mr. Cross. Please, come in." He doesn't move immediately. Just stands there, studying me like I'm a problem he's trying to solve. Like he has any right to look at me that way after what he did. "It's Dante," he says finally, pushing off the doorframe. "This is a professional evaluation, Mr. Cross." I gesture to the chair across from my desk. "Please sit." He steps inside. Closes the door behind him. The click of the latch feels too loud. It made the room shrink. My office is small, just a desk, two chairs, a bookshelf, and a window overlooking the parking lot. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. Dante sits. Sprawls, really, all casual confidence and controlled power. He's always moved like this, like the world rearranges itself around him instead of the other way around. I hate that I remember that. I hate that I notice. I tap open the evaluation form, focus on the screen instead of his face. "This is a standard psychological check-in. All responses are confidential unless you indicate intent to harm yourself or others. Do you understand?" "I understand that you're pretending you don't hate me." My jaw tightens. I keep my eyes on the tablet. "My personal feelings are irrelevant to this evaluation." "Liar." The word hits like a physical blow. I look up, meet his eyes. Mistake. He's watching me with an intensity that makes my skin Pr1ckle. Not angry, not smug, just... som3thing. Som3thing that feels too much like the boy who used to bring me hot chocolate and Te@se me about my terrible taste in music. That boy doesn't exist anymore. I k1lled him the same day Dante k1lled my father's career and ruined our lives. "Mr. Cross," I say, voice ice, "if you're not going to take this seriously—" "I'm taking it very seriously." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "I'm just wondering how long you're going to keep up the professional act before you admit you'd rather be anywhere else right now." "This is my job." "That's not an answer." Heat crawls up my neck. "The question was whether you're taking this evaluation seriously, not whether I enjoy conducting it." "So you admit you don't enjoy it." I want to throw the tablet at his head. Wanting to Scre@m at him, three years of rage finally unleashed. Want to demand why he did it, why he destroyed everything, why he never even tried to explain. Instead, I set the tablet down carefully. Fold my hands on my desk. "Let's e@blish some ground rules," I say. "You will answer my questions honestly. You will not deflect with personal attacks. And you will address me as Dr. Vaughn, not Harper, because we are not friends and we are not anything else. Are we clear?" His eyes didn't change, he kept on staring at me with the same look he always had but a smirk appeared on his lips. "Crystal," he says. Silence stretches between us. Outside my window, cars pull out of the parking lot. Practice ended ten minutes ago. The building is emptying. Soon it'll just be us, alone in this suffocating office. I pick up the tablet again. "First question: How would you rate your current stress level on a scale of—" "Why did you take this job?" I freeze. "Excuse me?" "You heard me." He tilts his head, studying me. "Why did you take a job with the team whose captain destroyed your father? Doesn't exactly seem like a healthy choice, Dr. Vaughn." My fingers dig into the tablet edge. "That's not…this isn't about me." "Isn't it?" He leans back, arms crossed. "You've been here three months. Haven't spoken to me once. Scheduled your office hours to avoid mine. And now Kane forces you into this room with me and you're acting like it's just another evaluation." His eyes bore into mine. "So I'll ask again: why are you really here?" Because I need the salary and the insurance and the career I built outside my father's shadow. Because I earned this position and I refuse to let you drive me away from it. Because proving I belong here is the only power I have left. I don't say any of that. Instead, I meet his stare, let him see exactly how much I don't want to be here, how much his presence makes my skin crawl and my heart race and my hands shake with rage. "This session is over," I say quietly. Dante doesn't move. Just watches me with those blue eyes that see too much. "Thought so," he murmurs. He stands. Walks to the door. Pauses with his hand on the handle. Turns back. "For what it's worth," he says, voice lower now, almost gentle, "I'm sorry you're stuck doing this. I know you'd rather pretend I don't exist." My throat tightens. I force myself to stay silent. He opens the door. Steps into the hallway. Looks back one more time. "But I'm not sorry I'll see you again next week." .............................................................................. I sit frozen in my chair, staring at the space Dante just occupied, trying to process what happened. My hands are still shaking. I press them flat against the desk, but it doesn't help. The careful armor I built this morning feels like it's cracking at the seams. He was here. In my office. 1095 days. That's how long I've hated Dante Cross. And in less than an hour, all of it crumbled. I had to sit across from him and pretend I was professional while every cell in my body Scre@med to run. My hands were still shaking. I set the tablet down before I drop it, press my palms flat against the desk. Breathe. Just breathe. "I'm not sorry I'll see you again next week." His words echo in my head. I Gr0@ned. “Get out of my head, you Vile SNAKE!” I ran a hand through my hair biting my lower lip. Next week. Another session. Another hour trapped in this suffocating room with him, pretending the past doesn't exist, pretending I don't feel the hatred burning through my ch3st every time I look at his annoyingly handsome face. I can't do this for six months of weekly sessions. I'll break. Or worse, I'll say som3thing I can't take back, som3thing that'll get me fired and prove I never should've taken this job in the first place. My phone buzzes on the desk. Dr. Sullivan. Again. I grab it, step out of my office into the hallway. I need air, space, anything that doesn't smell like cedar and arrogance. I lean against the wall, one hand pressed to my stomach like I can physically hold myself together. My ponytail has come loose—a few strands falling around my face. I don't bother fixing them I answer the call. "Dr. Sullivan, I know. I'm working on the appeal, I promise—" "Harper, stop." His voice is tight, "This isn't about the appeal." My stomach drops. "What do you mean?" "Your mother's condition is declining faster than we anticipated. The vision problems we discussed last month are worsening. She's experiencing increased fatigue, mobility issues. We can't wait six to eight weeks for the insurance company to process the appeal." I lean against the wall, suddenly dizzy. "But the medication—" "Costs fifty-four hundred dollars a month without coverage. I know. But Harper, we need to start treatment now, not in two months. Every week we wait increases the risk of permanent damage." I close my eyes. Do the math I've been avoiding. Two months. Ten thousand eight hundred dollars. I have thirty-two hundred in checking, two thousand in savings I swore I wouldn't touch. I'm eight thousand six hundred dollars short. "I don't have that much, I am nine thousand dollars short," I whisper. "I know." Dr. Sullivan's voice softens. He's known my family since I was a kid, watched my father's career implode, saw what it did to all of us. "Harper, I'm sorry. But there's som3thing else." "What?" "Have you checked your social media today?" I frown. "I don't use social media. You know that." "You need to check. Now. Because your name is all over it, and if what people are saying affects your position at the Storm..." He trails off, but I hear the unspoken threat. If I lose this job, I lose the insurance. If I lose the insurance, my mother loses access to the best healthcare coverage in the state. "What are people saying?" "Just check, Harper. And call me back." The line goes dead. I stare at my phone, dread pooling in my stomach. I deleted all my social media accounts two years ago, after my ex-boyfriend, Blake Morrison, Vancouver Thunder's star center, couldn't stand that I had a life outside of him. Couldn't stand that I didn't post about him constantly, didn't tag him in every photo, didn't perform our relationship for his 2 million followers. So I deleted everything. Blocked his number when we broke up two months ago. But I still have the apps buried in a folder somewhere. I found Twitter. Open it. My hands shake as I type my name into the search bar. The results load. My name is trending. Me…of all people…was trending on…Twitter??? I scroll through the posts, each one worse than the last, my fingers shook more than when I was in the same room with Dante. ScreenShóts of text messages I never sent. Timestamps on messages that were altered. Conversations fabricated. Blake's name at the top of every thread. "Harper Vaughn fed me Storm strategies all season. Conflict of interest. She's been sabotaging her own team, that's one of the reasons we won the last match." The post has fifty thousand retweets. The comments underneath are vicious. "She slept her way into that job." "Daddy's girl couldn't handle being fired so she became a mole." "Storm needs to terminate her immediately." No. No no no. I scroll faster, desperate to find someone defending me, someone who sees this is fake, fabricated, impossible. But there's nothing. Just post after post tearing me apart, calling me a traitor, a liar, a fraud. My vision blurs. I blink hard, refuse to cry in this hallway where anyone could walk by. I didn't send those messages. I never gave Blake inside information. I would never betray this team, no matter how much I hate Dante, no matter what happened with my father. But nobody cares about the truth. They care about the story. And Blake just gave them a perfect one: the fired coach's daughter seeks revenge by sabotaging the team from the inside. My phone rings in my hand. Marcus Kane. I answer, voice shaking. "Marcus—" "My office. Now." The line goes dead. I stand in the hallway, phone clutched in my trembling hand, Blake's lies trending on every screen in America, my mother's medication slipping further out of reach with every second I stand here frozen. This can't be happening. I force my legs to move, walk toward Marcus's office like I'm walking toward my own execution. The hallway feels too long, too bright. Other staff members glance at me as I pA$$. Do they know? Have they seen the posts? Do they believe I'm a traitor? Oh God. I bit my lips, running a hand through my hair as I took a deep breath, but it did nothing. I reach Marcus's door. Raise my hand to knock. It swings open before I can. Marcus stands there, face grim. "Come in." I step inside. And freeze. Dante is already sitting in one of the chairs across from Marcus's desk. He looks up. Our eyes meet. For one second, I see som3thing flash across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or concern. Then it's gone, replaced by that same unreadable mask he wore in my office. "Sit," Marcus says. I don't move. "What is he doing here?" "Sit down, Harper." I sit in the chair farthest from Dante, spine rigid, hands clenched in my lap. Marcus closes the door. Walks around his desk. Doesn't sit. Just stands there, arms crossed, looking between the two of us like we're problems he has to solve simultaneously. "I'm going to make this very simple," he says. "Both of you are in serious trouble. Harper, the board has been calling me all morning about Blake Morrison's accusations. They want you suspended pending investigation." My throat tightens. "Marcus, those texts are fake. I never—" He holds up a hand. "I believe you. But the board doesn't care what I believe. They care about optics. And right now, the optics are terrible." He turns to Dante. Pulls out his phone. Shows him the screen. I can't see what's on it from here, but I watch Dante's jaw clench, watch his hands tighten on the armrests. "Your fiancée," Marcus says flatly, "was photographed last n1ght with Ryan Morrison. Blake Morrison Brother. Thunder's right wing. The photos are everywhere." Isabella. Dante's perfect, polished fiancée. The senator's daughter he's supposed to marry in three months. Cheating on him. With a player from our rival team. I should feel vindicated. Should feel satisfied that Dante's perfect life is crumbling just like mine. But all I feel is numb. Marcus sets his phone down. "So here's where we are. Harper's being accused of corporate espionage. Dante's public image just took a mA$$ive hit. The board is questioning both of your positions with this organization. And I have forty-eight hours to convince them not to fire both of you. After last month loss, they are pissed." Silence. Then Dante speaks, voice cold. "Leave us alone." .............................................................................. Marcus's eyebrows rise. "Excuse me?" "Give us ten minutes. We'll figure it out." Marcus looks between us. "You two can b@rely stand to be in the same room." "Ten minutes," Dante repeats. Marcus studies us for a long moment. Then sighs. "Fine. Ten minutes. Fix this mess or you're both gone." He walks out. Closes the door behind him. Leaving me alone with Dante Cross for the second time today. The silence is suffocating. I keep my eyes on the wall behind Marcus's desk, refuse to look at Dante, refuse to acknowledge the tension crackling between us. "Now I understand," Dante says quietly. I can't help it. I look at him. "Understand what?" "Why you really took this job." My hands clench. "What's that supposed to mean?" He leans forward, elbows on his knees, those blue eyes boring into mine. "Revenge. You wanted inside access to the Storm. Used Blake Morrison to feed him strategies, tank our season. The first time Vancouver be@t us this year, you'd been working here exactly two months." The accusation hits like a slap. I stand up so fast my chair sc@pes against the floor. "Are you F*cking serious right now?" "Am I wrong?" "Yes!" My voice cracks, rage and exhaustion finally breaking through. "You think I wanted to work here? To see your face every single day and remember what you did to my family? I took this job because I earned it. Because I have a doctorate from Columbia. Because I need the salary and insurance for my mother's medical bills. Not because I give a single Sh1t about hurting you or this team!" Dante goes still. I'm shaking now, three years of held-back words finally spilling out. "Those texts are fake. I never sent them. I would never betray the Storm, no matter how much I hate you. Because unlike you, I have integrity." The words hang between us, sharp and cutting. Dante stands slowly. Walks toward me. I back up until I hit Marcus's desk. He stops a foot away. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his blue eyes. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. "I know," he says quietly. I blink. "What?" "I know you didn't send those texts. I know you wouldn't betray this team." His voice drops lower. "You have too much integrity for that just like you– even if you hate me." I don't know what to say. Don't know how to process Dante Cross defending me when he should be my enemy. "Then why—" "Because I needed to hear you say it." He steps back, runs a hand through his hair. "I needed to know you didn't take this job to destroy me." "Why would you care?" He doesn't answer. Just looks at me with som3thing I can't name. The silence stretches. Then Dante says, "What if we gave them a different story?" I frown. "What are you talking about?" "You're being accused of feeding information to your ex-boyfriend on a rival team. My fiancée just cheated on me with a player from that same rival team and your ex brother. What if..." He pauses. "What if we were together?" I stare at him. "Are you insane?" "Think about it. If you and I are dating, you'd never betray the Storm to Blake. You're loyal to me, to this team. And I'm not some heartbroken mess whose fiancée cheated, I knew about her cheating and I've moved on. I'm @ble, focused, in a committed relationship with the team's psychologist." "This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard." "You have a better idea?" I open my mouth. Close it. Because I don't. I don't have any idea how to fix this. Dante moves closer again. Not touching, but close enough that I feel the heat coming off him. "Six months," he says. "Public appearances. Staged relationship. We fix both our reputations, save both our jobs. Then we walk away clean." "I don't need your help." "Yes, you do." His voice is gentle, and somehow that's worse than if he'd been cruel. "I heard you on the phone earlier. In the hallway. Ten thousand eight hundred dollars for your mother's medication." My face goes hot. "You were eavesdropping?" "I wasn't trying to. But I heard." He holds my gaze. "Let me help." "I don't want your charity, Dante." "It's not charity. It's a business transaction." He leans against Marcus's desk, arms crossed. "You help me fix my reputation. I help you keep your job and your mother's insurance. We both get what we need." "And when it's over?" "We go back to hating each other." I should say no. Should tell him to go to H3ll, that I'd rather lose everything than owe him a single thing. But I think about my mother. Her vision problems and mobility issues. The medication she needs now, not in two months. I think about Blake's lies destroying everything I worked for. I think about how much I need this job, this insurance, this one chance to prove I belong here. "Six months," I hear myself say. "We fix this. Then we're done. And you don't get to hold the money over me. Ever." "You got yourself a deal." .............................................................................. This is a terrible idea. I knew it the second Marcus walked back into the office with his hands in his pockets. He stops behind his desk. Doesn't sit. Just looks between us with the expression of a man who's already calculating how badly this could blow up in his face. "Well," he says finally. "I'm glad you both didn't k1ll each other." I keep my spine straight, hands folded in my lap like I'm in a job interview instead of pitching the most insane solution either of us could've conceived. Dante leans back in his chair, casual, like we discussed the weather. "We have a proposal." Marcus's eyebrows rise. "I'm listening." I force myself to speak before I lose my nerve. "What if the board had a different narrative? Instead of two separate scandals that make us both look compromised..." "We give them a love story," Dante finishes. Silence. Marcus stares at us. "A love story." "We're dating," Dante says, voice steady and sure like he's stating a fact instead of constructing a lie. "Have been for a few weeks. Quietly, because of the history with Harper's father. We wanted to keep it private." "You two." Marcus points between us. "Dating." "We knew each other as kids," I add, hating how rehearsed this sounds even though we never rehearsed it. "When my father coached here. Dante and I were... friends." The word tastes like ash. Marcus crosses his arms. "Friends." "We reconnected when Harper started working here," Dante continues. "Realized the connection was still there. Started seeing each other privately." "And Blake Morrison's accusations?" Marcus's voice is sharp now, skeptical. "Fabricated revenge," I say. "We broke up two months ago. He couldn't handle it. Blake knew about my past with the Storm, my father's history here. He's trying to destroy my credibility because I rejected him." "And your fiancée?" Marcus turns to Dante. "Was never really my fiancée." Dante's jaw tightens. "My father arranged it. Business merger, political connections. Isabella and I were going through the motions. When I told her about Harper, she didn't take it well. Besides, I knew she was cheating all along." “Besides, we had to act like we hate each other so our coworkers doesn't know. It's like…Workplace…romance?” I spoke, skeptical about what I am saying as I look at Dante whose eyes were fixed on Marcus. Marcus is quiet for a long moment. Then he walks around his desk, sits down heavily in his chair, studies us both with those sharp brown eyes that miss nothing. "You two are dating." "We—" "Stop. Just stop. Harper, three months ago you requested office hours specifically to avoid him. Now you're telling me you've been secretly F*cking him for weeks?” My face goes red. "We haven't—it's not—" "We've been seeing each other. Privately. It's new. We just said that.” Marcus squinted his eyes. "And I'm supposed to believe this? That the woman who blocked your number three years ago suddenly decided to give you another chance? Or did you forget I am very much aware what happened between the two of you?” He chuckled mockingly. "You expect me to believe," he says slowly, "that you two—who haven't spoken in three years, who I've watched carefully schedule around each other for three months—are suddenly in…love?" "Not love," Dante corrects. "Not yet. But dating. Seeing where it goes." "Harper." Marcus looks directly at me. "Three months ago you specifically requested your office hours not overlap with team practice. You asked to review player files alphabetically so Dante's wouldn't come first. You've avoided him like he carries a contagious disease." Heat crawls up my neck. "I wasn't ready to face what happened between us. The history with my father made everything complicated." "And now?" I meet his eyes. "Now I don't have a choice. Blake forced my hand by going public. And I realized... holding onto anger for three years hasn't helped anyone. Maybe it's time to let go and show our…sides." The lie slides out smoother than I expected. Maybe because part of it isn't a lie, I am tired of carrying this hatred. Just not tired enough to actually forgive him. Marcus leans back, fingers steepled under his chin. "The board will never buy this." "They will if we sell it right," Dante says. "And how exactly do you plan to sell a relationship between the team psychologist and the captain whose report got her father fired?" "Childhood sweethearts." Dante's voice is calm, measured. "Separated by cirCûmstance, reunited by fate. People love a second-chance story." "People also love exposing liars." Marcus's voice hardens. "If this falls apart, if anyone discovers you're faking this, it'll be worse than the original scandals. You'll both be finished. Everyone would know you are liars. Not just with the Storm, with your entire careers." My stomach twists. He's right. If this blows up, I'll never work in sports psychology again. Dante will lose his captaincy, maybe his place in the league entirely. But what choice do I have? "It won't fall apart," Dante says. "You sure about that?" Marcus looks at me. "Harper, can you really spend months pretending to care about the man who destroyed your family?" Yes hovers on my tongue. Professional. Automatic. But Dante answers first. "She won't have to pretend." His eyes meet mine, som3thing unreadable flickering there. "I told you we are in love.” Marcus sighs, long and heavy. Picks up his phone. Sets it down. Stands. Paces to the window overlooking the practice rink. "If I agree to this," he says without turning around, "there are conditions." Relief and dread flood through me simultaneously. "You sell this one hundred percent, because I for one do not believe it," Marcus continues. "There shall be no slip-ups. No public fighting. No one can suspect this is anything other than real." "Understood," Dante says. "You'll need to be seen together. Often. Team events, public appearances, social media." My stomach churns with nervousness. "I'll handle the board," Marcus says. "Spin this as a positive, team psychologist and captain supporting each other through difficvlt cirCûmstances. But you two need to give me som3thing to work with. Tomorrow afternoon, there's a charity event at Seattle Children's Hospital. Storm players are volunteering. You'll both be there. Together." Tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours to figure out how to look like a couple instead of two people who despise each other. "Done," Dante says. Marcus finally turns around. Looks at me. "Harper? You're awfully quiet." Because I'm trying not to throw up. This is insane. I just agreed to let Dante Cross pay my mother's medical bills and pretend to date him and lie to everyone I know, why won't I be quiet. "I'm in," I say. Marcus studies us both for another long moment. Then nods once, sharp and final. "Fine. But if this blows up, don't say I didn't warn you." He sits back down, opens his laptop. "Now get out of my office. I have a board meeting in an hour and I need to figure out how to sell them on the team's psychologist dating the captain without sounding completely insane." I stand. Dante stands. We walk to the door together. Not touching, but close enough that I feel the heat radiating off him. Marcus's voice stops us before we leave. "And Dante? Harper?" We turn. "If I find out this is fake, that you are playing all of us," he says quietly, "you're both gone. No second chances. Understood?" "Understood," we say in unison. We step into the hallway. The door closes behind us. And I realize, standing there with Dante Cross beside me in the empty corridor, that I just lied to one of the few people at the Storm who actually believed in me and made sure I had this job. The weight of it settles on my ch3st like concrete. Dante looks at me. "Tomorrow, three PM. I'll pick you up." "I can drive myself." "We're dating now, Harper. Boyfriends pick up their girlfriends." The word boyfriend coming out of his mouth in reference to himself makes my skin crawl. "Fine. But you're not coming inside my apartment." "Wouldn't dream of it." He starts walking away, then pauses and looks back. "For what it's worth... thank you." I don't know what he's thanking me for. Agreeing to this insanity? Saving his reputation? I don't ask. Just watch him walk away down the hallway, broad shoulders and confident stride, like he didn't just upend both our lives. My phone buzzes in my pocket. A text from Gabriella: Girl, CALL ME. Your name is all over Twitter and I'm freaking out. I stare at the message. Tomorrow I'll have to lie to my best friend. Tell her I'm dating Dante. Convince her it's real. Tomorrow I'll have to stand next to him at a children's hospital and smile like I don't hate him. But ton1ght, alone in this hallway with the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and my heart hammering in my ch3st, I let myself feel the full weight of what I just agreed to. Six months of Dante Cross. Six months of lying. I close my eyes. Breathe. Remember Harper, it's all for the best. .............................................................................. Dante's POV I did it. Of all the ideas I could've thought of, I chose the worst one. I sit in my car in the parking garage, engine off, hands gripping the steering wheel. Harper Vaughn. I just agreed to fake date Harper Vaughn for six months. She's hated me for three years. I got her father fired. And three years ago, when she was 21 and I was 23, I kissed her, too stupid then to know it would haunt me forever. I should feel relieved. The plan makes sense strategically. Her scandal, my scandal, one solution. Marcus didn't but it, but I didn't care. I knew she had been avoiding me and wanted to use this to taunt her. But in all honesty, I missed her. So F*cking bad even though I know I desevere her hate. Imagine after kissing the girl who I had a crush on, then three weeks later, her whole life got upended because of me. I mean, I would hate me too. She looked at me with pure hatred in Marcus's office. When I proposed the arrangement and when I offered to help with her mother's medical bills. I can cover that amount without blinking. It's nothing to me. But it's everything to her. And now she's agreed to six months of pretending to care about me just to keep her job, to save her mother. This is a terrible idea. She's going to make me pay for this every single day. But I owe her this. I owe her family everything. Because it's my fault. It's always...my fault. I start the engine. Drive out of the garage into Seattle traffic, heading toward my penthouse in the city. The drive takes twenty minutes. I park in the building's underground garage, take the elevator to the top floor. The penthouse is too big, too empty. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook Elliott Bay and the city lights below. Minimalist furniture, expensive art I don't care about, a kitchen I rarely use. I pour two fingers of whiskey. Don't drink it. Just hold the glA$$ and stare out at the water. Tomorrow afternoon, I pick up Harper at three PM. We go to Seattle Children's Hospital for the charity event. Smile for cameras. Pretend we're falling in love. I ran a hand through my hair, setting down the glA$$ and walked to the window. My eyes stared out into nothing, all I could see was her face. Her delicate face with those soft luscious lips. The memory slowly creeps in before I can stop it. **** Three years ago. Late n1ght at the rink. I was twenty three, last season as a Storm rookie, b@rely keeping my head above water trying to prove I belonged in the NHL. Coach Vaughn had called an overtime practice. Pushed us through drills until my legs burned and my lungs Scre@med for air. Harper sat in the stands doing homework. Her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing her father's old Storm hoodie that was three sizes too big. She looked cute sitting there, her face all scrunched up. I chuckled to myself, she does that thing with her nose whenever she is upset. My eyes moved to her lips which have parted slowly too. Those pink luscious lips. I quickly looked away, blinking away the view of her but that image didn't leave my head. I cleared my throat, grabbing two hot chocolates from the vending machine after practice. Climbed the bleachers and sat beside her. "You're still here," I said. "Dad's my ride." She didn't look up from her textbook. "And I'm failing this clA$$." "Need help?" "You're a hockey player. What do you know about chemistry?" I grinned. "More than you'd think." She finally looked at me. Smiled. That smile did som3thing to my ch3st I didn't understand. “I doubt it Dante. But then again knowing that you are the perfect Cross boy then maybe you might be good at Chemistry. But then again, what do I know.” I chuckled. “You know nothing Harper Vaughn.” We talked for an hour. She Te@sed me about missing an easy Shót during practice, mimicked my reaction with exaggerated dramatics until I laughed so hard I nearly Ch0ked on hot chocolate. The arena emptied around us. Just us and the overhead lights and the cold smell of ice. The moment shifted. She looked at me differently. Not like Coach Vaughn's annoying daughter looking at her dad's player. Like Harper looking at Dante. I didn't know what came over me then. I kissed her. My hands moving to her waist, pulling her close to me, my lips connecting deeply with hers. Her textbook slid off her lap. Her hands fisted in my practice jersey. She kissed me back, but her lips were unsure. That told me this was her first kiss, told me I was taking som3thing I had no right to claim. I pulled away instantly. @nic flooding through me. "We can't," I said, voice rough. "Your dad would k1ll me. I'm sorry." Harper's face flushed red. She grabbed her textbook, wouldn't meet my eyes. "It's fine. Forget it." "Harper—" "I said it's fine, Dante. Just forget it happened." We never talked about it again. Three weeks later, I did what I did. Coach Vaughn was fired with multiple lawsuits. People thought that it was just a spoilt brat who now had the t1tle of captaincy and wanted things to chance and I took the name of an arrogant rich who made one of the best coaches of Storm to be left with nothing. I tried to call Harper. Left voicemails trying to explain. She blocked my number. Refused to see me. Her father lost his job. Their family lost everything. And I was the reason. She hated me. And I'd kissed her three weeks before destroying her world. ----------------------- Due to the word limit, it can only be updated here! 👉👉Open the app and continue reading the rest of the story.👉(It will automatically jump to the book when you open the app.)

Track Elementum Nutrition and get alerts for new ads

Create a free account to follow brands, save ads and search the full library.