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Viviane ☩═✦═☩ Anticipation isn’t really my thing. It’s that kind of gnawing unease that sits heavy in your gut, like waiting for the punchline of a joke that’s never coming, like being stuck on the edge of something, teetering between what could go wrong and what probably will. I’d rather skip the suspense and cut straight to the point—because waiting around just makes my skin crawl. I watched as the last of them filed out, leaving the place eerily quiet, just Alessandro and me left on the floor. The air felt thick, the kind of heavy that clings to your skin, making you all too aware of the silence that follows. It’s weird, right? I didn’t even blink when he broke into my apartment that night, like he owned the place. But now? Now there’s this tension hanging in the air, this unspoken challenge. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something about tonight that’s got me on edge. Not scared, just… aware. It’s like I’m standing at the edge of something, and I’m not sure
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ I don't screw up, ever. When I set my sights on something, there's no 'maybe' in the equation—it's as good as done. Once I’ve locked onto a target, I become a relentless force. Obstacles? Just part of the scenery. Setbacks? They’re fuel for my fire. Call it what you want—stubbornness, tenacity, obsession—I don’t really care. What matters is that when I start something, I don’t stop until it’s finished, and finished on my terms. The world can try to throw me off course, but I’m like a freight train with no brakes. You either get on board or get out of the way, because nothing is going to keep me from crossing that finish line. Some might call it a flaw, but I think it’s my best asset. In a world where people are quick to quit, to make excuses, to settle for ‘almost’ or ‘good enough,’ I’m the one who pushes harder, digs deeper, and won’t rest until I’m standing on top with my goal in my hands. And trust me, there’s nothing sweeter than that moment when I look
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ It’s rare for me to be at a loss for words. I’ve talked my way out of more trouble than most people even know exists. But then there are moments—moments like this—where words just fail me. When everything I’m feeling hits me so hard, I can barely breathe. It’s like a tight fist around my throat, and no matter how much I try to swallow it down, it doesn’t budge. Feelings have a way of messing with your head, making you second-guess yourself. Normally, I’d say screw feelings, and keep it moving. But when it comes to her? When it comes to Fliss, it’s different. With her, I don’t need to think. I don’t need to protect myself from my own instincts or worry about my judgment being clouded. She’s the one person in my life who I can let my guard down around, the one person I trust without needing a backup plan. And trust doesn’t come easy for me. Hell, I’ve never done it—not with my siblings, and definitely not with my parents. I’m a vault, locked up tight, and everyone’s o
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ I don't like being pushed into a corner. It’s like having a noose tightening around my neck with every move I make. And I don’t do well when I’m boxed in. I start looking for cracks, any way to break free. I don’t panic, I don’t freeze. I start thinking and strategizing. And all I could come up with was Brandon Kane. "The Westies?!" Brandon’s voice boomed through the room, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to hear those words coming out of your little sister’s mouth? The sister I’ve spent my whole life protecting suddenly talking about taking down a criminal group like it’s nothing?" I met his gaze, trying to stay calm. "Brandon, I’m not the same little sister anymore. I have grown up, I know what I’m doing. I just need your help to keep them off my back, create a distraction, or something." His expression hardened, his jaw clenching as he took a step closer. "And you think that just because you’v
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ I had screwed up, and I knew it. Believe me, I was no stranger to mistakes—I had a whole history of them, a laundry list of times I’d royally messed things up. But this one? This one stung differently, hit harder. It was like I could feel the weight of every bad decision I’d ever made piling up on my shoulders, and yeah, it pissed me off. I was furious at myself for being careless, for letting things spiral out of control, for not being sharper, quicker, better. But the anger wasn’t just directed inward. It burned hot, flaring up every time I thought about the situation I was in. I couldn’t stand the thought of letting anyone—especially someone like Alessandro—see me as a failure, as someone who couldn’t handle her shit. I wasn’t one to back down or wallow in regret, but this? It gnawed at me, clawing its way through my thoughts, and I couldn’t shake the frustration, the annoyance. How the hell had I let it get to this point? Every part of me screamed to fi
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ Holy Shit! I rarely get this nervous. I hadn’t been that nervous since I was waiting for my final exam results. And even then, I didn’t feel as off-kilter as I did now. My whole body is buzzing, like I was hooked up to a live wire. It was that kind of feeling where I knew something big was about to happen, and I was caught between wanting to run toward it and bolt the other way. Every nerve in me was on edge, my brain working overtime trying to play it cool, even though all I wanted to do was roll my eyes at how ridiculous it was. Ghost’s text flashed across my screen: “Send me your address.” I had sent it to him hours ago, and he responded with his usual cryptic edge, warning that he wouldn’t tell me when he’d show up or give any other details. It was all part of his game—keeping me on edge, making sure I never felt too comfortable. My fingers hovered over the screen for a moment, re-reading his message as if it would reveal more than it did. But there was noth
Ghost ☩═☠︎︎═☩ I ripped off my mask as I stared down at the scene before me, a twisted work of art—her legs spread wide, blindfolded, wrists bound tight, and lips parted, waiting for my cock. It was almost perfect, almost—but not quite. The flaw in the picture? Too much fabric still clinging to her skin, hiding the parts of her I wanted to expose, to claim. Leaving her hair, I crouched down, moving slowly so she could feel every shift in the air as I did. Her head instinctively followed my movement, seeking out what she couldn’t see, but I caught her by the throat, forcing her back into position. My grip tightened just enough to remind her who was in control. Her neck strained, head tilted back, mouth still open and waiting. Desperate, almost like she knew exactly what was coming but was powerless to stop it. And that’s exactly how I wanted her—helpless, on the edge, and aching for whatever I decided to give her. I couldn’t resist. My hands found her breasts, fingers diggi
Viviane ☩═✦═☩ I’ve always been a locked box, the kind with a heavy-duty padlock and no key in sight. I don’t share my thoughts with anyone, never have, never will. My feelings stay buried deep where no one can find them. Hell, not even I know where they’re buried half the time. People don't like that. It makes them uneasy when they can’t put you in a neat little box, label you, or figure out what makes you tick. They don’t like the unknown; it scares them. And scared people? They’ll do whatever it takes to make themselves feel better, to feel like they’re in control. So, what do they do? They dress it up as concern, like they actually give a damn about your well-being. They start throwing around words like ‘mental health’ and ‘emotional support,’ like those words mean something like they’re magic spells that will somehow crack me open. They say it’s for my own good, that therapy will help me ‘unpack my trauma,’ ‘heal my inner child,’ or whatever the hell the buzzword of the