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

She stood there under the stream, quiet. Water hit her skin and ran down in rivulets, trailing over the bruises on her wrists, her arms, her neck. The chain had left marks—dark, red, tender. A line of dried blood mixed with the water and dripped from her elbow. And still, she didn't cry.

I waited for it. Expected it. Hell, I wanted it. Not because I enjoyed seeing her break—I definitely did. But because crying would've meant she was still there. Still human. Still processing what the hell just happened. Instead, she stood like a statue—soaked, silent, staring at the tiled wall like it might give her answers.

She flinched when I stepped in behind her.

Not a single tear