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

"Exactly. Prime age for emotional bonding with advanced robotics."

I blinked. "You want to emotionally bond a child to a weaponized Furby?"

He ignored me completely and turned to the manager like we were in a private consultation. "Do you have a catalogue for your top-tier items? Actually, never mind. I'll just buy the store."

I physically grabbed him. "You're not buying the store."

Kael leaned in, voice low, like he was revealing state secrets. "Do you want people to think I'm poor, Aria?"

I stared at him. Just stared. Because what the actual hell?

"No one thinks you're poor," I hissed. "They think you're crazy. Which you are."

I was already exhausted and we hadn't even made it to the birthday cards.

In a kids' clothing boutique, he held up a tiny Dior blazer like he'd found buried treasure.

The sweet devil.