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

"That night…" She said. "I found you half passed out in your office and took you home, you kept muttering that name in the car."

Pity—just for a second. Quick as a blink. But I caught it. That softening around her eyes, the slight parting of her lips, the way her shoulders relaxed like she wanted to hold something fragile. Me.

I hated the way she looked at me like that. Like I was something broken she wanted to put back together.

I hated how vulnerable I was getting with her, how I kept letting parts of myself slip through the cracks when I'd spent years sealing them shut. She wasn't supposed to see this part of me. The hollow, aching piece of me that never healed after Ivan. The version of me that still dreamed in blood and silence.

And yet… the warmth in her gaze.

Beginning of the past