DaoistIQ2cDu

It's simple. A vengeful wildfire of a woman. A tyrant who begs to be burned.  

When Aria crashes into Kael’s empire, hellbent on making him pay for taking her job away, she’s met not with defiance—but a dare. “You want revenge?” he taunts, voice dripping with dark invitation. 

“Then ruin me. Take your pound of flesh exactly where it hurts.” His proposition is a trap laced with sin: As expected he calls the shots in his bed, her contempt is his twisted aphrodisiac. 

“Hate me until your hands shake,” he growls. “But do it on top of me, where I can watch you savor every cut.”  

Their arrangement is a collision of dominance and delirium. Aria wields her fury like a blade, determined to break him. Kael? He thrives under her wrath, goading her darker, deeper, hungrier. 

But vengeance turns slippery when every command she hisses ignites his obedience, and every cold glare melts into bruising kisses. Soon, the bed becomes a battleground—her nails carving victory into his skin, his whispers a serpent’s promise: “Chain me with your rage, darling. I’ll still come back for more."  

The rules are simple: No mercy. No surrender. But as their games spiral into something ravenous, who’s destroying whom? And when hatred burns this hot, what’s left when the ashes cool?

Sweet Hatred

My heart pounded against my ribs as I walked down the long, sterile hallway, passing room after room until I reached the one I dreaded the most.

The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air, making my stomach twist, but I swallowed the discomfort and pushed open the door.

The sight inside nearly shattered me.

My mother lay there, frail and small against the stark white sheets, her body swallowed by the wires and tubes keeping her stable. An oxygen mask pressed against her face, and an IV dripped its lifeline into her veins. But despite it all, her tired eyes softened when they landed on me, filling with warmth she had no right to feel in this condition.

My chest tightened. I forced a smile, my lips stretching too wide, too fake, even as something in me ached, raw and unbearable.

Beside her, Olivia sat with a quiet gentleness, carefully brushing through her hair or what was left of it, whispering words I couldn't hear. She looked up when I entered, relief flickering in her eyes before she quickly masked it.

I went to my mother's bedside, sinking down and taking her hand in mine, careful, so careful, as if she might break beneath my touch. She squeezed my fingers weakly, and I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

She worked herself into the ground for Olivia and me, spent her life behind a desk just like I had, only to end up here—fading away piece by piece. A cruel, slow death we could do nothing to stop.

All we could do was buy her time.

We talked, filling the silence with words that didn't matter, pretending this wasn't what it was. And then the doctor entered, checking her vitals, nodding at his clipboard before turning to me.

I stepped into the hallway with him, pulse hammering in my ears as I asked the question I didn't want the answer to.

He hesitated. "It would be best to move up the surgery. The sooner, the better. We don't want to risk further complications."

I nodded stiffly. My body felt detached from my mind, my head spinning with numbers, with figures, with money I didn't have.

When he left, Olivia appeared beside me, her voice small. "Maybe we should take another loan."

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temple. She wasn't wrong. It was our only option. But the risk… and now that I no longer had a job—

Kael's voice echoed in my mind. I clenched my fists. It wasn't just about pride anymore.

"I'll check if Grandpa Joe still has that opening," Olivia continued hesitantly, "I can—"

"You don't need to." My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn't take it back.

She frowned. "Aria, you don't have a job. How—"

"I'm getting it back," I said, cutting her off. The words tasted bitter, but I swallowed them down. "Just focus on taking care of Mom."

She hesitated, searching my face for something, before nodding slowly.

I turned away, reaching into my jacket pocket for my phone—

And my fingers brushed against something that wasn't supposed to be there.

A card. Cold and smooth between my fingertips.

I pulled it out, my breath hitching. Kael's name. His number. His fucking mark left on me without my permission.

Heat rushed to my cheeks—anger, humiliation, something else I didn't want to name.

I should throw it away. Rip it in half. Burn it.

But my fingers curled around it instead, my nails digging into the edges. That fucker knew. Knew I'd come crawling back to him. And I hated that he was right.

He knew.