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

I found her exactly where I expected her to be—standing stiffly in the dimly lit corridor, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin. Yet, even drained, she burned.

Dark circles shadowed her eyes, her lips were pressed into a firm line, and her shoulders held the weight of something heavier than just lack of sleep. Most people would crumble under it.

I took my time approaching, watching the subtle tension in her body. She was aware of me before she even turned her head. I could tell by the way her fingers twitched at her sides. Always so reactive.

"Oh, lucky me," Aria deadpanned, her voice laced with biting sarcasm.

She exhaled sharply, tilting her head as she regarded me with thinly veiled disdain. "Is that so?"

"Mmm." I let my gaze drag over her, slow and deliberate, taking in the exhaustion clinging to her. Yet, even at her lowest, she was a storm barely contained.

Games