Dark_lanes

She was sent to kill him. Instead, they chained her to his throne.
Seraphina Vale is an assassin—sharp, untouchable, and loyal to a cause that sold her like currency. Betrayed by her own organization, she’s handed over to the one man she was meant to eliminate: Rafael Antonov, the enigmatic and dangerously irresistible heir to Russia’s most feared syndicate.
He doesn’t want her dead.

He wants her broken.
In a world of betrayal, desire is the most dangerous weapon of all.

Scarred By Desire

I should've left the second he touched me like I belonged to him—like I was more than a weapon molded in blood and silence. But here I am, breathless and raw, leaning against the cold wall of his room like I've been burned from the inside out.

And gods, I've learned, don't save you.

My lips are still swollen from his kiss. My thighs still ache with the memory of him between them. And yet, somehow, I feel more dangerous now than I ever have. Because I've tasted power. His. Mine. Ours. Twisted together like barbed wire—sharp, messy, addictive.

But he doesn't understand… I've survived cages built by more than just men. I've seduced kings and slit their throats while they slept. I've been the whisper in the dark and the scream before the end. You can't claim something that was never yours to begin with.

And yet here I am, still wrapped in the scent of him. Gunpowder. Smoke. Sin.

I move through his penthouse like a ghost, barefoot and cold. The place is pristine—glass and black marble, steel accents and calculated minimalism. There's no softness here. No comfort. Everything is designed to be unwelcoming. To keep people out.

He watches me from the edge of the bed, shirtless, legs spread, a cigarette dangling between his fingers like it's part of him. His eyes track my every move—storm-gray, unreadable. They're the kind of eyes that make women beg and monsters retreat.

I stop in front of him. "I know you think you own me now," I say, running a fingertip along the edge of his dresser. "That I'm some prize your enemies handed over on a silver plate."

"I don't think," he replies, smoke curling from his lips. "I know."

The way he says it—calm, sure, like my resistance is just part of the game—makes my blood simmer.

I stalk closer, hips swaying, predatory. "You think sex changes things?"

"No," he says, leaning back slightly. "But it reveals things."

"That underneath all that poison and armor, you wanted to be fucked like that."

I grab the cigarette from his mouth and take a drag before flicking it into the half-empty glass of whiskey beside the bed.

"You don't get to own me, Antonov," I whisper, my voice low and sharp. "You just get to survive me."

He moves then—fast. His hand grips the back of my thigh and yanks me into his lap with a pull that bruises. I don't flinch. I straddle him, facing him, our noses nearly touching.

"Then make me bleed for it," he growls.

"You're playing with fire," I murmur, tracing the edge of his jaw with my thumb. "And I don't play fair."

His hands settle on my hips, firm and possessive. "Neither do I."

We stare at each other like two loaded guns pointed barrel-to-barrel. No lies left. No masks. Just tension that wraps around our throats like a noose and dares us to pull tighter.

It's a violent clash of teeth and hunger. Of dominance and surrender, both of us pretending we're not the ones falling.

He groans into my mouth, and I smile against his lips.

The deadliest thing about me isn't my knife.

It's the way I make even devils kneel.

Would you like to move into Chapter 22 from Rafael's POV next—or keep going with Seraphina? Ready to start planning how they begin their revenge?

Chapter 23: Seraphina