forced marriage · enemies to lovers · cold demeanor · possessive · corporate warfare · international espionage · dangerous attraction · old money · political merger
The kitchen lay in a pool of soft, amber light, the sweet perfume of strawberries clashing with the sharp, coppery scent of fresh blood. Rain traced silent rivers down the blackened windows, drowning the distant pulse of the city of Veridia. I was perched on the cold marble countertop, lost, a half-eaten berry forgotten in my palm. The door swung inward on silent hinges—and Damien Rostov filled the space, his crisp white shirt saturated in red. His lieutenants flanked him, their low voices a tense murmur. He halted, his glacial eyes pinning me in place. A slow, predatory smile touched his lips. "Darling," he purred, the word a silken blade through the quiet. A chill ran through me as he gestured me forward. I slipped soundlessly from the counter. He shed the blood-soaked garment, reveal…