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 amber liquid burned as it slid down my throat, settling into a slow warmth in my chest. I leaned back against the leather booth, my fingers idly spinning the glass between them.

The dim glow of the VVIP section cast shadows over the bottle of Macallan in front of me, expensive but unimpressive. My phone sat next to it, the screen still lit with her reply.

'How noble of you to volunteer yourself, but I'm good.'

A scoff pushed past my lips. Aria had a mouth on her, I'd give her that.

I could reply. Something sharp. Something to remind her who she was talking to. Or I could let her sit with and give her the space she needed.

A part of me—it was fucking annoying to admit—was already anticipating her next move. Would she ignore me? Would she send another text?

My fingers tapped against the rim of my glass, irritation simmering beneath the surface. Since when did I hesitate over a damn message?

Dignity