“Allison. Allison.”Andrew’s voice echoed through the door. I had just finished my shower, damp tendrils of hair clinging to my skin. Droplets clung to my skin, racing down my collarbone. I hastily pulled on a silk robe, tying it around my body before stepping out.He stood just outside my door, his expression neutral but his sharp eyes giving away the tension beneath. His sharp eyes flicked over me before settling on my face.“Dontrell sent me,” he said, voice calm, unreadable. “The dressers are here. You should come to the fifth floor.”I arched a brow, lowering my voice. “Is that all you came to say?” “No, but that’s the excuse I gave to come here.” His lips pressed into a thin line before he leaned in slightly. “I’ve got good news and bad news.” My stomach tightened. “What’s the good news?” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. “We’ve found the location of the B.M.” The words hit me like a rush of cold air.B.M.—our code for the blackmailer. The name we used to keep a
The moment the door clicked shut, the room erupted into motion.Five women descended on me like artisans working on their greatest masterpiece.Hands moved fast, practiced—pinning, brushing, tightening."Mrs. Blade, lift your chin." A firm hand angled my face, a cold swipe of contour gliding against my cheekbone."The dress is prepped—bring the gloves." Rhinestone mesh slid over my fingers, whisper-light but dazzling under the chandelier’s glow."Your hair, ma’am—sleek. Elegant. Fierce."A hand threaded through my blonde waves, twisting, pinning, securing—tight but precise. The style was flawless, the updo polished but lethal. A few deliberate loose strands framed my silver-blue eyes, softening the danger in them just enough."Shoes," I ordered. My sleek black box appeared before me. Jimmy Choo.The stoned heels glimmered as they were slipped onto my feet. My toes flexed, testing the razor-sharp stiletto points.Then—the dress.Black silk and lace molded to my body, every stitch de
Silence thickened between us, heavy as his cologne. The limo slid through the night, its black leather seats curving around a mahogany bar stocked with whiskey. Crystal glasses sat steady despite the motion. Soft golden lights traced the ceiling, casting a sultry glow over the tinted windows and mirrored panels.I turned to him, searching his face. “Dontrell… What’s wrong?” His fingers flexed around his phone, his jaw clenched, but he didn’t look up. “Nothing.” A lie. A clean, effortless lie.I exhaled but didn’t push. Even if I asked again, his answer wouldn’t change.The limo rolled on for what felt like forever. Dontrell barely looked up from his phone, his attention locked on the screen. Every so often, he’d rub my lap, a brief reminder of his presence. “Stay close to my men tonight,” he murmured between texts.Eternity later, the driver’s voice cut through the silence. “We’ve arrived, sir.”Outside, a bodyguard in a black suit slid the door open. Dontrell’s dark gaze met mine—u
Dontrell’s grip was firm against my back as he steered me forward. Every stare in the room burned into me, a silent accusation. My heart pounded, but I kept my face unreadable. The hall stretched wide, its harsh lights and towering ceilings pressing down on me.At the banquet table, a waiter yanked out a chair, and I sank into it.Clayton occupied the first seat. I was next. Dontrell took the third. Across from us, twelve men sat in utter silence, all dressed in black, red masks covering them from the nose down, with an X carved into each of their foreheads. A cold chill slid down my spine. None of them greeted me. They only spoke in unison."Welcome, Dontrell." And then, nothing. Their eyes followed my every move, but not a single one acknowledged me.The air hung thick. I could almost hear my own breathing when a man stepped onto the platform at the front of the hall. The Raven. His voice cut through the rowdiness like a blade."Silence." He barked, and not a murmur remained."To t
My hands fumbled over my phone, shaking so badly I almost dropped it. My fingers, slick with sweat, fought to dial Dontrell’s number.*Not connected.*No! No! That wasn’t possible. Dontrell’s phone was always connected. Always. I tried his other number. Same thing. A cold fist of dread gripped my stomach as I watched the reception bars vanish—four, three, two. My fingers became slick with sweat. Someone was messing with the signal. Trapping me. My heart slammed against my ribs. I dialed Andrew. The moment I pressed the call button, I heard movement outside—heavy footsteps, low murmurs, the crinkle of tape being torn. They were sealing the door shut. My screen lit up. Andrew’s call connected. Relief surged—until an old woman’s voice answered."Hello?"I yanked the phone away from my ear, staring at it in horror. **What the hell? I tightened my grip around my phone frustratingly.A sharp hiss slithered beneath the door. My gaze snapped down. A thin hose poked through the gap—and then
The pulley groaned under the weight as Clayton hauled me up, his grip firm on the lever. My body dangled, lifeless, paralyzed. When I reached the window ledge, he didn’t let go. Instead, he bent down, snatched a rope from the floor, and tied it tightly to the lever’s handle. A safety measure. If he let go too soon, I’d plummet right back down.Securing the knot on the lever, he pulled the rope taut in his fist and tied it to a pillar to stop the lever from dropping me all over again. Then he stepped toward the center of the window. His other arm wrapped around me, lifting me off the pulley, his grip unyielding. The moment my body hit the floor, my lungs fought for air.Clayton crouched beside me, his hands working fast. He removed the mat beneath me, untying the restraints around my waist and legs. His breath was sharp, controlled—but there was tension in his movements.His head tilted, his eyes narrowing as he studied my motionless form.“Still breathing?” His voice was low and sharp
Beeping machines yanked me from the abyss. My eyelids felt heavy, but I pried them open. White ceiling. The sharp scent of antiseptic. Pain coiled around my limbs—hospital.I turned my neck, disoriented. A nurse sat by the window, eyes glued to her phone, brows furrowed in focus. She hadn’t noticed me awake.I flexed my fingers. They moved. No more stiffness. Swallowing hurt—my throat was dry, raw. How long had I been out?Just as I parted my lips to speak, her sharp intake of breath stopped me.“Oh my God…” She tightened her grip on the phone, eyes locked on the screen. She didn’t notice me awake.The robotic voice of a news anchor filled the room as she turned up the volume."Breaking news: The charred remains of a man identified as Elias Gregory were discovered today in an abandoned warehouse. Authorities confirmed the victim was burnt beyond recognition, but forensic analysis traced the DNA back to Gregory. He was a known associate of the prominent Blade family.The warehouse, loc
The Blade’s 20th-anniversary party dripped with extravagance. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over designer-clad elites, their champagne flutes clinking amid hushed gossip. Laughter and camera flashes filled the air as whispered secrets passed behind velvet-gloved hands.The model walkway stretched like a runway of power, flanked by high-profile guests in gold-trimmed chairs. Models glided in towering heels, their gowns shimmering under the spotlight.I sat, front row—of course. My presence commanded attention: a high-neck silk blouse with gold embroidery, wide-legged black trousers—no slits, no exposure. Just pure class and power.I watched the models command the stage, but the weight of the day pressed down on me. Needing space, I left my front-row seat and moved to the far left corner almost at the exit of the hall—but still inside, still with a perfect view, but away from the flashing cameras and prying eyes.A waiter passed, effortlessly balancing a tray. I grabbed a glass
I gripped a bottle of Romanée-Conti 1945, my fingers tightening on it. I admired the way the bottle's curves fit comfortably in my palm and its vintage design. The scent of aged oak and bourbon mixed with the chill air of the wine cellar. Indecision gnawed at me as I wondered if I should take this vintage wine or if a bottle of whisky would do for him. Almost immediately, I heard his footsteps even before the door opened. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. I recognised him by the rhythm of his walk and the unmistakable scent of his cologne—Shia. “Has it come to this?” Andrew's voice cut through the air, the bitterness sharp. He leaned against the door frame, his arms and legs crossed; he watched me as if I were something to dissect, something difficult to understand.I didn’t turn to face him as I responded but I dropped the bottle of wine into my wooden basket gently alongside the other items in it. “Come to what, Andrew?” My voice barely carried, almost lost in the cavernou
The words were soft, hesitant, but they detonated inside my skull like a damn bomb. My whole body tensed beneath her, the warmth between us turning razor-sharp. Love. That word didn’t belong in my world—it didn’t belong in my chest or bloodstream. But she had just dropped it between us like it was something simple, something light.I went still. My fingers, which had been lazily tracing her back, froze against her spine."Go ahead, lie to me. Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll pretend to believe it." She blurted out. She wasn’t letting me escape this."You’ve slit throats and spilt blood for me. Don’t insult me by pretending it wasn’t love." Her eyes searched mine.I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. I had waited so damn long to hear those words, but now that I had, they felt foreign. Like something I wasn’t meant to have. My father, and everyone who knew the truth of our marriage, had sworn that her loving me was impossible. Which woman on earth would love a man whose father had kidnapped
His hands found my hips, and he dragged me closer, legs spread, nipples pointing at him as I lay on the desk. I gasped at the hardness of his cock pressing onto my groin, my thighs squeezed instinctively; the feeling of anticipation was too much to bear."Keep those gates open," he barked, forcing them apart. His thumb found my clit, pressing just enough to send a sharp jolt through me.“Slick and red, just how I like it, he mused, circling it slowly, lazily. "I haven’t figured out if I should taste you first or just shove my cock inside and fuck you stupid."He circled his dick slowly on it, making me whimper. Then his hands took over. I couldn't think—I could barely breathe. His fingers moved faster, rubbing tight, focused circles until I arched against the table.A low moan escaped his lips as he watched me squirm. "That's my girl. Always ready to come undone for me."His fingers worked faster—relentless, merciless, not inside my cunt but on my clit and all the surroundings of my v
The holidays were in full swing—lights, music, warmth. And he was gone. Again. Work always came first. He could have stayed. He should have. Instead, I stood alone in our closet, fastening my earrings and adjusting my necklace over a green skimpy sundress that fits just right. I stared at my reflection. Perfect and polished—but I still wished he was here to tell me how extraordinary I looked.I spritzed perfume and grabbed the three sleek gift boxes I had prepared for him, and I made my way out of the room and toward the elevator.I pressed the button. The doors didn’t slide open. I tapped again. Still nothing—strange. At this time of day, I was usually the only one around. Most of the threats had been neutralised, and it had been over three weeks since the last sign of trouble. The need for constant security had eased, giving me a sense of freedom I hadn’t felt in a long time.But as the silence stretched, unease crept in.Then, the screen above the panel flickered—the elevator was c
Dontrell’s steady tone sent a shiver down my spine. I turned to find him striding toward us, his lips twitching in amusement.He stopped in front of me, gaze dropping to my lips. "My sexy wife." The words were smooth, teasing. He kissed me, hard and possessed, and when I reached up to wipe my lipstick off his mouth, he smirked. "Leave it."Clayton exhaled sharply, then turned to me with a smooth but sharp remark before stepping away. “I have something to discuss with my men. Catch you both later.”He left, and it was just Dontrell and me.He leaned in, voice teasing. “Did you miss me, Dove?”I rolled my eyes. “You wish.”His chuckle was low, rough. “I always get what I wish.”Ignoring him, I faced the stage. “Celine. I’ve seen her before.”His amusement vanished. “Where?”“At your workplace.” I exhaled. “Andrew told me she was nobody.”Dontrell’s grip tightened around his glass. “Andrew talks too much.”I narrowed my eyes. “So you do know her.”He drained the rest of his whisky and se
The Blade’s 20th-anniversary party dripped with extravagance. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over designer-clad elites, their champagne flutes clinking amid hushed gossip. Laughter and camera flashes filled the air as whispered secrets passed behind velvet-gloved hands.The model walkway stretched like a runway of power, flanked by high-profile guests in gold-trimmed chairs. Models glided in towering heels, their gowns shimmering under the spotlight.I sat, front row—of course. My presence commanded attention: a high-neck silk blouse with gold embroidery, wide-legged black trousers—no slits, no exposure. Just pure class and power.I watched the models command the stage, but the weight of the day pressed down on me. Needing space, I left my front-row seat and moved to the far left corner almost at the exit of the hall—but still inside, still with a perfect view, but away from the flashing cameras and prying eyes.A waiter passed, effortlessly balancing a tray. I grabbed a glass
Beeping machines yanked me from the abyss. My eyelids felt heavy, but I pried them open. White ceiling. The sharp scent of antiseptic. Pain coiled around my limbs—hospital.I turned my neck, disoriented. A nurse sat by the window, eyes glued to her phone, brows furrowed in focus. She hadn’t noticed me awake.I flexed my fingers. They moved. No more stiffness. Swallowing hurt—my throat was dry, raw. How long had I been out?Just as I parted my lips to speak, her sharp intake of breath stopped me.“Oh my God…” She tightened her grip on the phone, eyes locked on the screen. She didn’t notice me awake.The robotic voice of a news anchor filled the room as she turned up the volume."Breaking news: The charred remains of a man identified as Elias Gregory were discovered today in an abandoned warehouse. Authorities confirmed the victim was burnt beyond recognition, but forensic analysis traced the DNA back to Gregory. He was a known associate of the prominent Blade family.The warehouse, loc
The pulley groaned under the weight as Clayton hauled me up, his grip firm on the lever. My body dangled, lifeless, paralyzed. When I reached the window ledge, he didn’t let go. Instead, he bent down, snatched a rope from the floor, and tied it tightly to the lever’s handle. A safety measure. If he let go too soon, I’d plummet right back down.Securing the knot on the lever, he pulled the rope taut in his fist and tied it to a pillar to stop the lever from dropping me all over again. Then he stepped toward the center of the window. His other arm wrapped around me, lifting me off the pulley, his grip unyielding. The moment my body hit the floor, my lungs fought for air.Clayton crouched beside me, his hands working fast. He removed the mat beneath me, untying the restraints around my waist and legs. His breath was sharp, controlled—but there was tension in his movements.His head tilted, his eyes narrowing as he studied my motionless form.“Still breathing?” His voice was low and sharp
My hands fumbled over my phone, shaking so badly I almost dropped it. My fingers, slick with sweat, fought to dial Dontrell’s number.*Not connected.*No! No! That wasn’t possible. Dontrell’s phone was always connected. Always. I tried his other number. Same thing. A cold fist of dread gripped my stomach as I watched the reception bars vanish—four, three, two. My fingers became slick with sweat. Someone was messing with the signal. Trapping me. My heart slammed against my ribs. I dialed Andrew. The moment I pressed the call button, I heard movement outside—heavy footsteps, low murmurs, the crinkle of tape being torn. They were sealing the door shut. My screen lit up. Andrew’s call connected. Relief surged—until an old woman’s voice answered."Hello?"I yanked the phone away from my ear, staring at it in horror. **What the hell? I tightened my grip around my phone frustratingly.A sharp hiss slithered beneath the door. My gaze snapped down. A thin hose poked through the gap—and then