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 insult she hisses ignites his obsession, 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

The first thing I felt was soreness—everywhere. My legs, my arms, even places I didn't think could ache. My body felt wrung out, drained, like I had been put through a damn endurance test. And then there was the heat, a lingering warmth between my thighs that had no business still being there.

My brows furrowed as I blinked against the soft glow filtering through the curtains. My mind felt sluggish, tangled in a haze of exhaustion. I shifted against the sheets, and that's when I noticed it—my skin was soft. Too soft. Clean.

I lifted my hand and ran it over my body. No stickiness. No traces of last night's mess.

The memories hit me all at once, flashing behind my eyelids like a goddamn movie reel. His hands on me. His voice—low, dark, and utterly wrecking. His fingers. His mouth. The way he had unraveled me piece by piece, keeping me right on the edge only to rip it away until I was too far gone to fight it.

"That's a lie, woman."