The connection seems to take forever, each second stretching out as I wait for the call to go through. Finally, Bruno’s familiar voice answers, smooth and composed. “Mr. Hart, what a pleasant surprise.” “I need to talk to you about a guest you had at the Luminary Gala,” I say, going straight to the point. Bruno’s tone shifts, becoming more serious. “Of course, Mr. Hart. Which guest are you referring to?” “Her name is Desiree Blackwood. She was wearing a green Chanel dress, long and wavy red hair, expensive jewelry—” “I know who Desiree is, Mr. Hart. There's no need for the descriptions.” “Perfect.” “What has she done? Stolen something? Maybe the fine china?” he jokes. I’m no longer in the mood for his jokes. But his words hit home. That’s exactly what she did. She stole something. It may not be the cups and plates, as Bruno said, but she’s still a thief, nonetheless. Because she stole me; she stole my attention. I can forgive many things, but not this, not theft. No one
This is the eleventh time Mabel has flipped her hair. I’ve been counting.She’d say something ordinary like, “Pass me the salt shaker, Mikey,” and flip her hair. “What time is it, Mr. Hart?” Another hair flip. “This food is so nice. What is it, Italian?” And yet another hair flip.I don’t know why, but that simple act annoys me greatly. Why not just tie up the damn hair? We’re eating, for goodness’ sake. But I hold my tongue. This is Mike’s fiancée, after all. I have to be civil. I don’t want to end up like one of those parents whose children never come home for the holidays. And maybe I’m a little bit—just a tiny bit—biased against her because of Desiree. I need to be open-minded. She might turn out to be a great person, and I don’t want to ruin our future daughter-in-law and father-in-law relationship by hating unnecessarily.“I have to say this, Mr. Hart,” Mabel says, flipping her hair for the twelfth time, “your house is beautiful. So grand. The furniture. I can’t even…”“Thank yo
Mabel turns to Mike, her eyes blazing. “Are you going to stand there and watch your dad talk to me like that?”“Eight,” I count. “Nine.”Mike walks over to Mabel, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “Babe, I think it’s better you just listen to him. I’ll be out very soon.” He begins to guide her out of the room.“Are you fucking serious?” she snaps, pulling her arm away. “I’m not leaving. Who the hell does he think he is?”The owner of the house, I think to myself. But I don’t say that aloud because it would interrupt my counting.“Ten,” I finish. I watch as Mike finally manages to usher Mabel out of the room, her hair flipping one last time as they disappear around the corner.I sit back down at the dining table, waiting. He’s probably there right now, his hands gently cupping her face, looking into her eyes, trying to calm her down. It’s what I’d do too—what I did when Mike was younger. He was such a sweet little kid. Stubborn, yes. Reckless, of course. But he’d been sweet. Besides, I
“Thank you for calling Rose’s Bane, your home of guaranteed satisfaction. You’re speaking to Mwahlicious J. How may I assist you today?”Well, no one can fault Rose’s Bane for their customer service skills. It’s top-notch. I can feel myself relaxing already.“Hi, Mwahlicious J. I’m calling to book an appointment,” I say.“Absolutely, I’d be delighted to help you with that,” she responds. I can hear her clicking away at her keyboard. “Can I have your name, please?”“Caspian,” I say.“Surname, please.”No fucking way. “Is that necessary?” I ask.There’s a pause, and I can almost hear the gears turning in her head. “For our records, yes, but we can assure you of complete discretion, Mr. Caspian.”The last thing I’d want is for the media to get wind of this. My name would be splashed all over the headlines. ‘Caspian Hart, the reclusive billionaire who favors strip clubs.’ It would be a PR nightmare. I can’t even imagine the amount of calls I’d get. The rehearsals for a backup story. The p
It’s Friday, and I’m on my way to Rose’s Bane.Despite my security detail insisting they accompany me, I refused. I don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to myself. It’s risky, I know, but I have this feeling that people wouldn’t really recognize me without my usual entourage. To further conceal my identity, I’m wearing a baseball cap. I considered adding a fake mustache, but that seemed excessive, even for me.True to her word, Mwahlicious J had sent everything to my email: the appointment date, time, venue, NDA, and coordinates to the secret entrance at Rose’s Bane, which I’m currently driving into.“May we have your ID card, sir?” someone says at the gate, stepping out of the shadows.I hand the plastic card to him. He examines it briefly, then nods and returns it to me.“Welcome, Mr. Hart,” he says, pressing a button to open the gate. “Enjoy your evening.”I drive through, following the discreet signs that lead to the VIP parking area. Once I park, I take a moment to collect my
I remember thinking Desiree's hair is beautiful when dry—wild, curly, and full of life. But now, with her hair wet and clinging to her face, it looks even more mesmerizing. It’s as if the wet strands are accentuating her features, creating a look so stunning I can hardly find the right words to describe it.The music ends.“Alexa, now play ‘Streets’ by Doja Cat,” Desiree says.As the soft music pours out of the speakers, Desiree takes off her clothes. The more she strips, the closer she walks to where I’m sitting. Each item is tossed carelessly to the ground—first her gown, then her necklace, followed by her earrings. Her shoes drop with a soft thud, and soon after, her bra and panties join the pile. With each step closer, the air between us thickens. Her movements are growing more intimate, more daring.Finally, she’s standing right in front of me, completely naked.I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.“Can I cuff you?” she asks.I blink, confused. “Cuff me? As in handcuffs?”“Yes
Desiree's POV I think my ears are faulty. Did I just hear Caspian Hart—the CEO of CypherEdge Dynamics—ask me to marry him? “What?” I say, still in disbelief. My heart races, and I can hardly process the words that just left his lips. “Marry me,” he repeats. There’s an intensity in his eyes that tells me he’s completely serious. “But… why?” I stammer. “I know this isn’t how you imagined your first marriage proposal, but I’m dead serious, Desiree. I want to marry you.” I don’t know what to say. We’re still face to face with each other, and his lips—now swollen from kisses—are a few inches away from mine. I remember how they tasted, like coffee. They were so soft and properly moisturized, unlike the typical texture of men’s lips. If I want to think clearly, I have to put enough distance between myself and Caspian. Right now, he’s very distracting. “Caspian,” I say. I'm at a loss for words. What can I even say? I admit that a marriage proposal is not usually the first thing
I'm stunned. He doesn't look angry or disgusted. If anything, he seems...understanding. Compassionate, even."You knew, and you still came?" I whisper, barely able to process it.“It doesn’t make me want you any less, Desiree,” he says. “At first, I admit that the news surprised me. It’s not every day I hear that Mike’s ex is using me to get back at him. What was that word your uncle said again? Yes, collateral damage.”Uh, Uncle Bruno. I knew he’d out me. “Collateral damage?” I ask.“That’s what he said. That you’re a good girl and I shouldn't take it out on you.”That man always has my back.“Are you going to listen to him? Do you think I’m a good girl?”Caspian's look is intense, and he isn’t smiling. “You’re not a good girl, Desiree. But I like that. I like that very much. You came to me fully armed with seduction, and as of this moment, I confess that I’m heavily seduced. I wasn’t kidding when I promised you a blank check.”He pulls out a checkbook and a pen.“Caspian—”“Name you
I try to dodge her attempts to smother me, but it’s impossible. She pulls me into a bone-crushing hug, and I swear I hear Caspian chuckling behind me.“Mom, you’re—” I can barely breathe. “You’re squeezing me.”“Oh, hush. You’re pregnant. You’re invincible now!” She pulls back, her hands gripping my arms as she stares at me like she’s just been handed the Holy Grail. “We have to celebrate.”“No,” I say. “No celebrations.”She ignores me, her mind already racing ahead. “We’ll call your siblings, of course. And your aunt. And the cousins. Everyone has to know. Oh, we’ll have a big family dinner—”“We’re leaving for New York today,” I interrupt, my voice firm. “There’s no time for any of that.”She frowns, her face falling in a way that tugs at my heart. “But this is huge, Desiree. You’re having a baby! My grandchild!”“Which is precisely why I’m not ready for the entire family to descend on me like vultures,” I say, trying to keep my tone light but firm. “Mom, I love you, but no. We’re
Caspian tilts his head, pretending to think about it. “Technically, yes.”“Technically?!” I say, grabbing the sheet to cover myself even though he’s seen everything. “Oh my God. She’s going to know. She’s going to know! I’m going to have to move to another continent. Maybe Antarctica.”He chuckles, too relaxed for someone who’s just committed a cardinal sin. “I’m pretty sure you’re overreacting.”“No, I’m not!” I slap his chest, but he just grins, his hand reaching up to catch mine. “You don’t know her! She’ll bring this up every Thanksgiving for the rest of my life. My life, Caspian!”“She’s not going to bring it up,” he says, sitting up now. “And if she does, I’ll handle it. Relax.”“Relax?” I throw the sheet off dramatically and scramble off the bed. “I cannot relax! This is a disaster.”He watches me, amused, as I grab the first piece of clothing I can find—his shirt—and pull it over my head. It falls halfway to my knees, but it’ll have to do.“You’re adorable when you’re panickin
“Caspian!” I hiss, my hands flying to his shoulders. Before I can protest further, he captures my lips in a kiss, his tongue thrusting into my mouth as if he's trying to brand me as his own. "I can't get enough of you. You're mine," he says, the possessiveness in his tone making my heart race with excitement and fear. I shiver at the dark promise in his words, my body already slick with need for him. He pulls back to trail open-mouthed kisses down my neck and collarbone, nipping and sucking at my sensitive skin as he frantically works the buttons of my shirt—his shirt, actually—ripping it open to expose my lace-covered breasts to his hungry gaze. I moan and arch into his touch as his calloused hands palm my bare breasts, thumbs teasing my aching nipples. I can feel the wetness dripping from me, already anticipating the feel of him filling me. I watch him through heavy-lidded eyes, my body trembling with barely contained need. Once he's done undressing me, he takes a lustful look
“No, it’s not,” I say, though my voice is a little too high-pitched to be convincing. “She knows what we did to get you pregnant, Desiree. She’s not going to be shocked by some creaky bed springs.” I smack his arm, my mortification complete. “Caspian!” He bursts out laughing, and despite my best efforts, I can’t help but smile. His laugh is infectious, the kind that makes it impossible to stay mad. Still, I cross my arms, glaring up at him. “You’re the worst.” “And yet, you married me.” “Poor decision-making on my part.” He reaches down, pulling me up from the floor with an ease that’s both annoying and impressive. Before I can protest, he’s dragged me onto the bed, his arms wrapping around me as he shifts us into some semblance of comfort. It’s a tight fit, but somehow it works—his body warm and solid against mine, the faint smell of his cologne grounding me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. “This isn’t comfortable,” I grumble, even as I relax into him. “Sure it is,” he mu
“I’m trying to fix this!” I say, my voice rising. “You think I wanted to come back here? You think I wanted to face all this again? I’m doing this because it’s important—because it’s the right thing to do.”She laughs again, bitter and sharp. “The right thing. That’s rich.”“Mom, please,” I say, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. “I need you.”She softens, just a fraction, and for a moment, I think I’ve gotten through to her. But then she shakes her head, turning back to the stove.“I don’t know anything,” she says quietly. “Even if I did, I’m not getting involved.”“Why not?”“Because Elaine’s dangerous,” she says, her voice low. “You don’t know her like I do. She’ll ruin you if she thinks you’re a threat.”“She’s already ruining people,” I say. “And if we don’t stop her, she’ll just keep doing it.”Mom hesitates, her hand resting on the counter, her gaze distant. Finally, she sighs, the fight seeming to drain out of her. “What exactly do you need from me?”Relief floods thro
“Well,” Caspian says, leaning back in his chair. “That could’ve gone worse.”“Worse?” I glare at him. “She practically called us parasites.”“Technically, she only called you a parasite.”I grab a pillow from the couch and throw it at him. He catches it, laughing as he tosses it back.“This isn’t funny,” I say. “Now what?”“Now,” he says, standing and stretching, “we apologize to your mother. She doesn't seem too angry. I feel like a little touch here and there will crumble her resolve.”“How would you know? Did you see her face when she left?”“I’ve been doing business for years. It's called the ‘guilt-trip’ move. Just go over there and say sorry like the good daughter that you are.”I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”“Because deep down, you know I’m right.”I peek at him through my fingers. “I hate you.”He grins. “No, you don’t.”I leave the living room and head for the kitchen, where I’m certain Mom is.The kitchen is dimly lit, the only l
Caspian flashes her his most charming smile. “I think her headstrong nature is one of her best qualities.”Mom blinks, caught off guard for half a second before recovering. “Oh, how sweet. You really are a catch, aren’t you?”I down my glass of wine in one go.As the evening drags on, Caspian expertly steers the conversation toward Mabel’s family. It starts subtly—questions about old neighbors, mutual acquaintances—but my mother’s too sharp not to notice.“Why the sudden interest in Mabel’s mother?” she asks, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.Caspian doesn’t miss a beat. “Just curious. Desiree mentioned her in passing, and I thought she sounded fascinating.”Mom leans back, swirling her wine like a villain in a soap opera. “Fascinating isn’t the word I’d use. Elaine’s always been… ambitious. But I wouldn’t put much stock in what she says. She’s not exactly the most reliable source.”“Why’s that?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.She gives me a pointed look. “Because she’s exactly
Desiree's POVI want to believe this plan will work. I really do. But I know my mom. She’s a professional shapeshifter, charming you one minute and gutting you with a smile the next. I hate that we’re resorting to her, but Caspian seems so sure of himself, so confident in this ridiculous idea that I’ve reluctantly let him take the lead.His hand is on the small of my back as he guides me toward his private jet, a gesture that feels more reassuring than I care to admit. The runway is lined with his security entourage, men in suits who move like shadows, their eyes scanning the horizon for threats that probably don’t exist. It’s all so… excessive.“You know,” I say, glancing up at him as we climb the stairs, “you could’ve just booked a commercial flight like normal people.”He smirks, not even breaking stride. “Normal people don’t have ex-strippers with billionaire husbands chasing after gossips of their scheming cousins. Or mothers with questionable boundaries. Besides, do you really w
Outside, the air is cool and crisp, a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. Desiree leans against the railing of the porch, her hands gripping the wood tightly. “I can’t do this,” she says, her voice low and angry. “They’re useless.” “We’ll figure it out,” I say, leaning beside her. “We just need to be patient.” “Patient?” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Caspian, we don’t have time for patience. Mabel’s a step ahead of us, and we’re sitting here making small talk with people who don’t even like me.” “They don’t have to like you,” I say. “They just have to slip up.” She shakes her head, her jaw clenched. “This was a mistake.” “No,” I say. “It wasn’t. We’ll find what we need. One way or another.” She doesn’t respond, just stares out into the distance, her expression unreadable. And as the wind rustles through the trees, I can’t help but wonder if we’ve already lost the battle before it’s even begun. # The drive home feels endless, the road stretching into the dark l