His Deadly obsession. A smile stretched the corners of Rosealba’s lips as she moved closer and confirmed that it was Drystan. It was indeed him standing at the door of her store. How did he find her? She hurriedly opened the door, her actions filled with surprise and merriment. “You’re here,” Rosealba said, her voice laced with surprise and the faintest hint of happiness.Drystan smiled a rare and tender expression that softened the sharp lines of his face. The smile wasn’t just for her—it was for himself, too. An acknowledgment of the warmth she awakened in the cold chambers of his soul. Rosealba’s worries seemed to dissolve in the light of that smile, unaware that he didn’t know he was capable of offering something so gentle.Drystan’s eyes traced the curve of her form, lingering on every detail and her words fell on deaf ears, turning into a distant hum as he savored the sight before him. God, she looked perfect. Her blonde hair which was packed in a messy ponytail complemente
Chapter 11.Rosealba stood before the mirror, her reflection staring back with an intensity that mirrored the raging storm within her. Clutching her manuscript, her knuckles whitened, and beads of sweat formed on her forehead, unveiling her inner turmoil. She drew in a deep breath, attempting to summon the confidence that seemed to elude her. Straightening her posture, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her shoulder. “You can do this,” she whispered to her reflection, forcing a smile that failed to mask the uncertainty in her eyes. This was her moment, her opportunity to ascend the literary ladder. The thoughts of losing loomed over her, threatening to shatter her dreams of joining the esteemed Noble Writers firm. She could not afford rejection at the moment. This was her only hope. Her only dream. The sudden vibration of her phone jolted her from her reverie. Retrieving her phone from the pocket of her cream-colored coat—a garment that exuded an elegance that her face didn'
HIS DEADLY OBSESSION. Chapter 12. Drystan moved with quiet confidence, grabbing the plump man by the collar. The motion was almost gentle, but the fear in the man’s eyes revealed the searing heat of Drystan’s grip. He trembled like a child caught in the jaws of a predator.For a moment, Rosealba’s fear dissolved entirely, replaced by a fluttering warmth deep in her chest. Drystan wasn’t just a savior; he was a force of nature, a storm that broke through her loneliness and fear in one decisive sweep. Her savior was a monster if only she knew. A monster that took life without chances. As the man whimpered and begged, Drystan’s piercing gaze found hers, making sure that there was no bruise on her body. His eyes were sharp, yet beneath their coldness, Rosealba saw something she hadn’t expected: relief— that she was safe. In that moment, she knew she was safe—not just from these men, but from the shadows of her past that had haunted her for far too long.Drystan’s eyes darted back to th
Chapter 13. Drystan exhaled. An almost invisible exhale. “You have been standing for long. Does your leg hurt?” His eyes narrowed down to her legs and she pressed them together. Drystan reached to her fresh feet but she took a step backward before he could grip her leg. For the fear that her confused body would react to something as tiny as the graze of his finger. Drystan stared up at her. “Doesn't it hurt?” Rosealba shook her head, slowly and he nodded getting up on his feet. He picked her nylon from the floor and walked over to the passenger seat.“I will drop you home,” he informed throwing the door open. A smile stretched at the corner of Rosealba’s lips and happiness followed. “Thank you.” She appreciated it and walked into the car, her face beaming with smiles. Drystan smiled at her very childish act. She was pure, almost too pure to be called his woman. But nobody complimented her like him. She was all his. The ride to her house was silent. Rosealba settled into the
Chapter 14. Drystan stared at his violent jerking cock. “Fuck….” He cursed. A low deep curse. “Couldn't you stay calm?” the question was the most rhetorical question he had asked in years. Calm? Calm was never a word to use in a sentence that explained his desire for Rosealba. With another lady, he could stay calm, he could dismiss them even before they got down on their knees, but with Rosealba he could never stay calm. His desire for Rosealba can not be compared to any random lady who has warned his bed. Since the moment his eyes crossed her direction, his desire for her began to grow, superseding greater heights that only his desire for killing ever reached. His desire to own, possess dominate, and fuck her was great, greater than his urge to taste the blood of his every inherited enemy.His hand moved against his cock, very slowly that he could feel the pleasure coursing through him—his mind filled with images of her tiny little hands stroking his cock as gently as he was doin
“Why did you do that?” Lowel thundered, pacing the room like a caged animal. His eyes burned with fury.“Do what?” Stephanie asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she raised a brow, feigning ignorance. Lowel stopped abruptly, his fists clenched at his sides as he glared at her. He was trembling, trying to contain the anger coursing through him.“Why did you manipulate your way into the firm and have them screen Rosealba off?” Stephanie tilted her head, feigning thought. “Oh. That.” A scoff escaped her lips. She reached for the glass of wine on the table, sipping leisurely before placing it back. Crossing one leg over the other, she shrugged. “She deserves it.”Lowel’s jaw tightened. His glare deepened, sharp enough to cut through steel. “You had no right,” he growled.Stephanie’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “No right? What do you care?”“I care,” Lowel snapped, his voice rising. As much as he hated Rosealba for her innocence he saw her work for that position. “I care because
Rosealba’s grip tightened on her phone as she struggled not to rip it off her ear and end the call. Her knuckles turned white, her breath caught in her throat, and her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.“Come home,” the receiver from the other end commanded. The voice carried an undercurrent of unspoken concern, but it felt to Rosealba like a cage waiting to trap her— to trap her into being Don’s sex toy.“Home?” Rosealba scoffed, batting her lashes and blinking back the unwelcome tears. They pricked the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill. But tears were a weakness she couldn’t afford. Not now.“Home,” she repeated, her voice brittle with disbelief. She let out a soft, bitter laugh that escaped her lips like shattered glass.“Where is home? The place in Poland that seems rather so distinct? The place in Poland that leaves no freedom? The place in Poland that steals the little peace I have? Is that what you call home?”Each word cracked like a whip, slicing through the ai
Chapter 17.Drystan walked into Rosealba’s store, his presence, like he was the freakking owner, his presence yielding and commanding. Of course, he was in charge—in charge of the owner of the store and the store itself. But there was something off. The warmth that the store exuded was missing. It was not covered in the usual feeling of peace and serenity, it felt cold and deprived of everything that made it peaceful, yet nothing was missing or absent from its position, aside from Rosealba of course. He took a step further, very cautious and of course scanning the entire room with his watchful eyes. Almost immediately. His eyes found his sunshine. On her white couch, she sat, her head bent. Her body didn't move, but her shoulders shook slightly, almost invisibly, but he could tell. Her fist tightened around her hair, squeezing and pulling on it the same way he desired to squeeze and fist on her hair when he would fit his cock into her beautiful and willing creamy self. The invisib
Drystan’s hand settled on Rosealba’s waist, guiding her through the walkway as they stepped into the beautiful penthouse. As the floor-to-ceiling glass door that stretched across the entire length of the main living room building opened, they stepped into the interior that offered an unbroken view of the beautiful interior. Welcoming Rosealba’s eyes. Her eyes delighted slightly as she took in the view of the living room. Dark leather furnishings and minimalist decor enhanced the living room, with a refined aura, their clean lines and luxurious textures exuding effortless opulence. Rosealba’s eyes wandered further, her legs moving towards the direction of the open-concept design that flowed seamlessly from the grand living room to a kitchen adorned with black marble countertops and state-of-the-art appliances, each surface catching the ambient glow of golden pendant lights, while Drystan just walked behind her, loving the amusement in her eyes at every step she took. “This Is beaut
Rocco walked behind Drystan, his steps hurried and brisk. “Stay back.” Drystan dismissed before getting into his car, not sparing him a glance. Rocco's frowns deepened. This was his 7th year of working with his boss. In all 7 years, he had seen all expressions aside from anxiety. The look that Drystan’s face held was of anxiety, and he hated to admit that his boss was anxious. But it was the reality. He was falling in love with Rosealba and a weakness has stepped in, whether being admitted or not. As usual, he made a bow, obeying his lordship’s command. He didn't dare to defy it, but he burned with rage. Drystan’s grip tightened on the wheel, his knuckles almost turning pale, as anxiety slithered through his vein, like a serpent, coiling tighter with every breath, squeezing the air from his lungs until every breath felt like luxury. His feet pressed harder onto the accelerator as he struggled to decipher every thought that crawled into him like trembling hands against the wall. F
Drystan sat in his dimly lit office. His sharp gaze fixed on the thick stack of mafia proposals before him but his mind wandered around with thoughts of Rosealba. The scent of leather and expensive whiskey lingered in the air, mixing with the faint trace of gunpowder—a reminder of the world he owned—and the world he ruled here in this unholy room and outside this unholy building.A golden lamp cast a low glow over the polished mahogany desk, highlighting the precise arrangement of documents that dictated the fate of incompeted men. Men who needed him to survive—men who needed his approval to carry on with life hacks. Across from him stood Rocco, silent and observant as always. He spoke when necessary, and his presence was a constant reminder that the world outside this office relied on Drystan’s command. The proposals lined up on the desk were all the same—offers of allegiance, desperate alliances, men begging for his approval to expand their illegal trades. Tonight, one proposal i
Rosealbe walked to the table like he had commanded, her legs wobbling under the protection of nothing. Drystan’s muscles pinched, elation spreading its wings across his body as he watched her carry his command delicately. Ass on the bed like it would be on his face, legs spread wide according to his command. His skin prickled and his balls tightened harder. He moved closer, every step, seething pleasure through Rosealba’s spine like heat. “You do well with carrying commands sunshine. Spread your legs wider.” His voice was firmer, hotter, and even more authoritative. Rosealbe hesitated a second, spreading her legs before he could notice. Delight plopped Drystan’s eyes. “Good girl.” He mumbled in a deep soothing voice. As he moved closer, his eyes darkened with untamed hunger—the hunger to taste, eat, feast, and drink from every inch of her.His hands moved to her nipples and he gripped them against his fingers, letting his eyes roam around her magnificent body. “I could worship
Rosealba’s pussy tingled as Drystan’s lips found hers, capturing it into a relentless kiss. Her pulse thundered as Drystan enclosed his hand against her neck, pulling her closer to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring and devouring her mouth like he was tasting himself from her lips. Every move of his lips against hers left her arching and yearning for more of what he desired to offer. His grip on her neck tightened and he tilted his head sideways, tasting every corner of her mouth. His cock hardened, almost painfully. He had been yearning for his day. For the day when he would kiss her hungrily and taste himself off her lips—that day was today and every ounch of him prayed gravely to be buried in her tight willing self. Drystan pulled away, his breath raging and heavy as he stared back at Rosealba with eyes that represented lust, needs, and desire. His grip on her neck remained, just like his gaze against hers. “How was your first taste of cum?”Rosealba’s stomach churned at the
Drystan gritted, his blood scalding with a mixture of rage and unbearable yarn.“Teasing me, huh?” His voice deep and compelling voice mirrored his untamed desire and desperation to be mercilessly sucked. Rosealba’s cheeks stretched into a smile, a soft seductive smile that deepened with a fraction of an inch. She paid no reply to his word. Her hand ran gently against his clothed tug, her eyes rooted on his, while she bit on her lower lips. “Urghhhh!” Drystan grunted, almost animalistically. If being touched could burn this deep—what would being sucked do?The thought of being sucked intensified his anticipation, and his stomach flipped as curiosity narrowed its claws against his body. Frustration spilled through him— And he grabbed Rosealba’s hair, yanking her head backward. “You little tease.” Drystan gritted, easing his neck, eagerly. Rosealba’s pussy tingled at the frustrated sight of him. She bit harder on her lower lips, wondering how he would look when she had his cock agai
Rosealba stilled in both actions and breath. Her eyes held Drystan’s face his words echoing in her head and melting through her heart. Rosealba swallowed forcing some air down her throat. “Being my obsession is enough to earn you anything free and I need you to take it without questions.”Obsession? The word resounded in her head, separately. Her eyes narrowed and she looked at Drystan's confusion etched on her face. She was his obsession? As the realization struck her, the confusion on her face wore off, replaced with something different. Butterflies swirled in her belle. She was his obsession? She was Drystan’s obsession. As toxic and scary as sounded, she loved and enjoyed it. Silence stretched and her eyes held properly onto his eyes, gazing into them like she was searching for the future. Gently, she reached her right hand to his cheeks. Drystan stiffened at the slow and deliberate soft touch, but he mended his height just so her hand didn't ache.Rosealba’s hand moved gently
As Drystan stepped into his masion, an unfathomable feeling of excitement clutched his chest and the excitement of arriving home followed. Home? The name resounded in his ear, familiar yet utterly strange. He had never looked further to coming home—he had never seen this mansion as home. To him? It was a tall vast building that sheltered his head and represented replica’s of building he had, in and across the world. But today, there was a feeling of longing to arrival in this house that he paid lesser attention to and he feared to accept that Rosealba was the home. In her, the home resided. As Drystan stepped out of the elevator with Rocco behind him. The familiar figure stood tall, her blouse tugged into her black skirt. “My lord.” She bowed, happy to finally be back. Drystan stared at her for some seconds. “How was your stay?” His question was covered to his weak interior. Lately compassion has been a part of him and he hated that he cared about people and their affairs to even o
The moment was here and Drystan could not wait to wrap this up and return home to his woman—the only place where genuine peace existed. The night was thick with the kind of tension that clung to the air, heavy like a storm just before it breaks. The dockyard stood under a shadowy veil, lit by the dim orange glow of streetlights reflecting off the glistening water. It was an industrial graveyard, but to Drystan, it was just another stage for his dominance to play out.He stood at the helm, his posture unyielding, radiating authority with every breath. His leather gloves creaked as he adjusted the cuff of his tailored jacket, the gleam of his cold, calculating eyes scanning the movements of his men. They were unloading crates of arms with military precision—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Drystan didn’t tolerate mistakes. His empire ran on precision, and nothing would disrupt the careful balance he’d established.A few of his men shot nervous glances at him, but none dared approach. T