I was sitting in front of my dresser, dabbing foundation onto my face while staring into the mirror as I blended it in. My mind was already heavy, lost in thought, when my phone buzzed on the dresser against the wooden surface. I glanced down, and my hand froze mid-motion.Unknown number. If you knew me—if you had been following this story of my life—you’d know that unknown numbers never brought good news. Every time my phone rang without a name attached, it meant trouble. Big-time.I didn’t answer. I let it ring until it died.The room was silent for three seconds before it started again.My heart pounded in my chest as I watched the screen, hoping it would stop.But it didn’t.I swallowed hard and set down the beauty blender. With my left hand, I picked it up, bringing it to my ear. I barely had a chance to brace myself before a voice sliced through the line.“Hello."The way she said it—dripping with venom, taunting—made my stomach turn.Celine. I knew that voice anywhere, not b
I was in bed.My mind reeled. The call—the argument—none of it had happened.It was just a dream.A dream so vivid it felt real—like a nightmare.I turned lazily, my mind spinning. My subconscious was playing games with me, messing with my head. It had been five restless days now—since I agreed to everything my mother’s messenger demanded, just for the chance to see her.Yet he still hadn’t given me her location.Instead, he kept feeding me cryptic messages. Kept mentioning Mr. Blade’s daughter. But never a name. Never a face. I had fallen asleep thinking about how I should give up on her search, but part of me couldn’t do that. And now my subconscious was punishing me.I turned onto my side, my cheek pressing against my phone. Drool smeared the screen.The alarm vibrated against my face.I removed my phone and lifted it. I wiped my mouth, staring at the screen. 4:00 PM.The exact time my mother’s messenger promised he’d call.But there was no call. I stopped the alarm. Ran to my me
“You what?”My heart stopped. I blinked, my mind scrambling to catch up. My voice came out thin and unsteady. “Y-You already knew?” He nodded. My chest tightened. My hands balled into fists. “Are you kidding me?! Since when, Dontrell?! And you didn’t think I deserved to know?!”His jaw ticked. “A few days ago.” He exhaled sharply, his voice gruff. “My dad kept calling. I thought it was another of his tricks. Then Clayton called too.” He hesitated. “At first, he told Andrew. But Andrew had to leave for Russia that same day, so he never got the chance to tell me. Clayton told me himself.” My anger boiled over. I yanked my arm from his grasp. “I can’t believe you,” I shot back. His expression darkened. “Allison—” My voice shook with anger. “I thought we promised each other—no more secrets. No more lies.”He let out a slow breath, raking a hand through his hair. “Yes. But, Dove, how the hell was I supposed to face you and tell you that I have a step-sister somewhere out there—and tha
Dontrell took a step forward, his entire frame coiled like a predator ready to strike. “You’re not welcome here.” Clayton didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked bored. “You always were quick to anger.” His gaze flickered to me. “Is he always like this, Allison? Or is it just a brother thing?” I stiffened at being dragged into their war. “Don’t,” Dontrell snapped. “Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her. Don’t—” “You’re acting like I’m the enemy,” Clayton cut in, his voice cool. “When I’m the only reason she’s still breathing after Carter’s attack that day.” Dontrell let out a dry chuckle. “You won’t get a thank you from me if that’s what you’re searching for.”“Oh, come on, brother. Not even a ‘Welcome, Clayton. How did your day go?’ Or maybe a ‘Congratulations on being the new Regent of the Circle?” I stilled. A Regent? Clayton was now the Circle’s second-in-command. That was the position Carter had been meant to fight for—if he hadn’t tried to kill me and ended up being killed by
The second his name left my lips, the air turned razor-sharp.Silence. Dontrell went rigid. Clayton’s expression barely shifted, but his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—narrowed.Andrew didn’t move, but I felt the shift. The flicker of awareness. I had messed up. Badly. My excitement got the best of me, and now I had to think fast—cover my tracks before I landed in trouble.So, I played them. Still gripping Dontrell, I let out a scoff, my lips curling in disgust. "Andrew?" My voice dripped with contempt. "You survived?" Even Andrew looked taken aback by my tone, just as I wanted.I turned to Dontrell, feigning exasperation. "Remember how we made that bet? You said Andrew would survive Russia and come back home, and I told you he wouldn’t. Since Carter was from Russia, and you killed Carter’s brother—a mob leader over there—there was no way Andrew was making it out, no matter how skilled he was. And now, look." I gestured at Andrew. "He's here. Alive." Dontrell blinked, processin
The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped out into the hallway, moving past the closed doors until I reached the one I was looking for—the kitchen. I wasn’t heading outside—to the foyer or the compound like Dontrell would have loved. I just needed a cup of lemongrass tea and preferred to make it myself.The hallway was eerily silent. The kind that slithered under the skin like an unseen threat, but the moment I entered into the kitchen, its opulence greeted me. The massive white and beige space, with its sleek marble counters, mirrored cabinets, and a long glass kitchen island stretching across the centre, gleamed under the pendant lights. I walked toward the cupboard, reaching for the kettle on the highest shelf. Too high. With a quiet sigh, I climbed onto the counter, stretching on my toes until my fingers wrapped around the handle. As soon as I had it, I hopped down, setting it on the counter with a soft clink.I slid my headphones over my ears and walked to the island table in
Clayton’s grip on my throat was steel—unyielding, merciless. His fingers dug into my skin—pricking me and cutting off air. His other hand pressed against my back, holding and trapping me in his grasp. I gasped, my fingers clawing at his wrist. “Please…let go,” I begged, but he didn’t relent."Tell me, Princess," he grunted, his voice lethal. "How long have you been spreading your legs for Andrew?" A strangled cough escaped me. My throat burnt under his wicked squeeze, my vision darkening at the edges, blood pumping into my head. If he didn’t let go soon—if his grip tightened even a fraction more—he would crush the breath from my body.And then, with one brutal push, he released my neck.I staggered back, my legs trembling; I nearly collapsed onto the floor, but my hands shot out, grasping blindly—fingertips brushing the cold, smooth kitchen counter. I clung to it, steadying myself. My body convulsed as I stood and then bent forward, holding my chest, coughing and gulping air like I ha
A shudder ripped through me. My fingers twitched around the hilt of the knife. My eyes widened, my heart hammering against my ribs.And Clayton saw it. A slow, cruel smirk tugged at his lips.“Oh, you’re surprised?" His voice turned mocking. "Well, you shouldn’t be. By now, you should know I don’t give a damn whether you live or die. You mean nothing to me."His voice was void of emotion. "So if you want to kill yourself, do it. I just need your confession first." Something inside me cracked.Not because I was holding a knife to my chest. Not because he’d figured out my secret. It wasn’t his ruthlessness that broke me.It was the realisation that he truly meant it and my death meant nothing to him."You have no proof of anything," I blurted out."I don’t—not yet," he admitted. "But when I set my mind on something.” He paused, taking in my reaction. “I make sure I get what I want. And I don’t care how long it takes—I’ll prove you’re cheating." "Why?" My voice rose with frustration. "W
The car drive home was silent. I sat frozen, afraid to shift.Dontrell’s knuckles whitened around the wheel while I sat beside him. His men trailed behind us—this was the first time I would see him driving himself, and he drove like an angry madman. His jaw clenched, eyes burning ahead. He hadn’t said a word to me since we left the courthouse. Fury radiating off him like fire. I didn’t dare look at him.I stared out the window, eyes locked on the passing streets, afraid a breath too loud from me would set him off. My heart raced, but I stayed composed. I knew that anger. Knew it well. And I knew it wasn’t going to stay bottled for long.I dug my nails into my palm, staring at the blur of the city. But the moment I blinked, I wasn’t in the car anymore.I was back in the prison visitation room— a day after my first visit to Clayton.Sitting. Restless. Haunted. I rubbed my arms, trying to shake the dread Clayton had left me with.Hating myself for realising… he had been right.I didn’t w
The prison gate clanged shut behind me, a shrill warning. But I didn’t turn back.Once I mentioned Clayton Blade’s name, everything changed. They checked my ID and stamped a pass.They didn’t take me to the usual visitation area. No glass. No phones. No steel separation. No monitoring guards in ear range. No cameras pointing at my face.Instead, they led me down a quiet corridor to a heavy grey door.It felt like another world.The room was too clean—warm, with a table, two cushioned chairs across from each other, a couch in one corner, a bookshelf, and two fans. No cameras.Even a window. Walls painted dull beige, like they were trying too hard not to offend. A thick door sealed behind me with a loud buzz.What the hell was this? A luxury suite for monsters?I clenched my fists. That’s what you get when you’re the son of a godfather—prison perks.I sat stiffly in the chair facing the door. I didn’t lean back. I didn’t relax. I was burning too hot to sit still.The door creaked open.
My screams shattered the air like thunder.“Asylum! Asylum!” But Dontrell didn’t stop—didn’t even flinch.I sobbed, my body raw, my throat hoarse, shifting away from his cock, trying to slide off, to escape—but he yanked me back with one arm around my waist and slammed back into me— a beast possessed. The breath in my lungs vanished. My scream turned silent.He growled, sweat dripping, muscles armouring over me.“Too late to say that shit. I’m deeply gone, close—fuck, I feel it burning. You should’ve screamed it before I lost my goddamn mind. Now? You’re just noise under me. I come first.”My throat burnt as I screamed the word again—“ASYLUM!” my voice raw from screaming, begging, and crying —but he only groaned, his eyes dark and crazed. He shoved deeper. His cock felt like it was splitting me open from the inside.One hand on my breast, the other claiming my throat. I couldn’t stop crying. I had come three times already, my body twitching, yet he hadn’t even climaxed once. His coc
Dontrell's hand slid possessively around my waist, pulling me closer until I could feel his cock searing through the fabric of his trousers. My fingers clawed at him, desperate, tangling in his shirt as our kiss grew frantic. His breath was a harsh whisper against my lips, hot and demanding.“Every time I look at you, I’m reminded I’m a monster, but I still want to hold you in ways I shouldn’t.” He said it with such rawness, almost like he was confessing something darker within himself."I don’t care what you are," I responded, my head sliding to the centre of his trousers, feeling his cock. My voice trembled, almost like I was moaning. "I just want to feel you, even if it destroys me. I want to be your victim."He cupped my face, his mouth full of heat and promise. His fingers slid over my dress and took it off. With one smooth motion, it was gone, falling around my feet like air. Revealing the new bra from this morning.“Damn,” he muttered, eyes glinting like a child on a Christmas
Three days. That’s how long it took for them to clear me—how long I’ve been calm. No more screaming. No more machines beeping like death was on standby.My body healed. My memory returned—mostly. The fog lifted, and with it, the denial. I’d bled till I lost my baby. I’ve accepted it. My memories are clear now. I remember everything. Including who did it.I’d cried a lifetime’s worth. Now, I was just... quiet.The doctor signed the discharge forms an hour ago. “You’re free to go, Miss Blackwell,” he said. "Now, dressed in a flowing gown, standing by the window, I soaked in the hospital’s silence—hopefully for the last time.“Your man’s waiting,” the nurse whispered with a smile.And he was. Dontrell stood at the end of the hallway, talking quietly with the doctor. His brows furrowed, the usual sign he was shielding me from something. He glanced up, saw me, and his expression softened. He left the doctor mid-sentence, walking straight to me."He leaned down, kissing me in front of every
I opened my eyes slowly, blinking at the light above me. For a moment, I thought it was a dream, and I closed them again, willing myself to wake up. But no, it felt real. The sharp, clinical smell that filled my nose was right here.It didn’t just feel like waking. It felt like being dragged from the edge of darkness to light. My head throbbed and my chest tightened, breathing was hard. And I strained to see through the foggy blur in my eyes.Before knowing where I was, I felt a warm hand holding mine. The touch felt familiar, like someone I should have known. The shapes in my vision began to clear, and I focused on the person sitting beside me. Head in hands, shoulders hunched—him.My heart jumped a beat as I registered his presence.“Dontrell?” I whispered, my voice barely a breath, hoarse and weak. Hearing my fragile voice startled me. His head snapped up at my words. His frantic eyes were wide, tears clung to his lashes.At first, I didn't fully recognize him, but memories trick
They hit the club, boss..." Dave's sharp, panicked voice cut in before I could speak. He didn’t even wait to listen to what I had said before; his urgency burnt like brimstone.The phone burnt in my hand. My heart slammed, jaw clenched as I stood still, jaw clenched.“Tell me everything,” I growled, ice-cold.“They disguised themselves as clients and got in. Once they bypassed security, they opened fire.”“But we lit ‘em up. Twelve of them down. All dead.”I gritted my teeth. “Twelve?”“Yeah. But there’s more. The cops arrived late. Someone delayed the callout, and it’s looking like it came from the inside.”My eyes narrowed. “Inside?” The word tasted bitter and harsh, like poison. I lowered my voice; the warden mustn't overhear. "You sure? My trained men wouldn’t dare betray me," I spat, anger dripping.“It wasn't our guards; we suspect someone else and are hunting him.”“Who did it?”“A bartender vanished before the shooting—no struggle, no panic. No sign of a forced exit. Just g
Three weeks in this damn cell—just cold walls and metal bars. A cage made just for me—tucked away where no one can see at the back of the prison yard.The cell room is bare—stone walls, a comfortable bed with a threadbare blanket, and a toilet in the corner. Built for someone with connections but no contact with the outside.Dad’s pull got me this cell, but it can’t stop the weight-crushing me.Wardens told me one thing: stay quiet and let Father’s men handle it. Every time I asked about Allison— they’d tell me nothing. Hell, even the guards who run this place are his men, and they’ve been told not to speak to me about anything. No word—on the world or Allison.Still, she haunts my thoughts—every damn minute.The last time I saw her plays on repeating my head—blood, limp head, the way our hand broke contact as she was wheeled into the ward.I pondered.Will she ever forgive me? Would she listen to my side of the story? I knew I didn’t spike her drink—but how do I prove it? She’s not h
I walked out of her ward, kissing her forehead one last time, as I had every day for the past week. Each step grew heavier, my body resisting, my mind drowning in frustration. The sterile smell of antiseptic reminded me where I was. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, the pain matching the ache inside.Her pale face haunted me. She lay still—too still—and I had to fight the urge to collapse beside her, begging her to wake.She should have woken by now. I'd seen men survive worse, but she wasn’t a man. She was a woman, and I was supposed to be her protector—but I failed at that.Now there she was, trapped in that damn coma, barely holding on. Her name echoed in my mind, but no amount of wishing could bring her back.Three weeks now, and I haven't heard her voice. I miss her laugh, the way her eyes light up when she talks, how she stands firm in her beliefs, the softness of her touch, and the way she makes everything seem right.The doctors said she was stable, but that wasn