On the brink of her second wedding anniversary, Natalie Jones uncovers a devastating betrayal—her husband, Michael Cooper, embraced passionately with his mistress. Confronting him in a dimly lit restaurant, Nat exposes his scheme to marry her for her father’s fortune and storms out, her heart shattered but her resolve unbroken. Ric Steward, on the other hand — billionaire and philanthropist — never expected his evening to ignite with scandal. When he sees Natalie—radiant, powerful, and on the edge of a breakdown—he’s immediately captivated. Their fiery, forbidden attraction is challenged when Ric learns she’s the daughter of a longtime friend. But that doesn’t stop Nat. It only makes her want Ric more… If she could dive into my thoughts, she'd be overwhelmed by the primal hunger burning inside me for her. "Darling, you have no idea the dirty fantasies that consume me when I think of you. Don't tease me unless you're ready to make them real," I snarl, my control slipping as I fight to keep my darker urges at bay. Her fingers trace my jaw with a tantalizing softness. Her voice is a sultry whisper, laden with challenge and desire. "Then show me just how far you're willing to go."
View MoreI expect to hear something from my father, having signed the deal, but there’s not much to be disappointed about. At one point, I could have laughed like an evil maniac after this achievement — despite knowing this win wouldn’t have been possible without Ric’s help — but now it’s just meh. Thank you, next. Meera, however, wants to celebrate with pizza. When she sees my confused face, she tells me I deserve it for just what a joke my life has become. She’s not wrong. And then she casually slips to me that I got the role in Haymitch’s movie.I almost choke on the piece of pizza I’m chewing. “When did that happen?”“Oh, the call came when you were in the meeting. Anya was thrilled, believe it or not,” says Meera. The mention of Anya takes away any bit of appetite I had. “She was?”“Yeah,” Meera agrees with a mouthful. A bit of sauce oozes out of her mouth and begins to drip down her mouth, but before I can say anything, Matt wipes it off with a tissue. I pretend to not notice the exc
I leave my penthouse with Meera by my side, the world outside feeling too bright, too loud, for the space I’ve been hiding in. The air feels sharp against my skin as if it knows what I’ve been up to these past few days. I slip on sunglasses, trying to disappear into the back seat of the car, but Meera’s voice keeps pulling me back to reality.“You ready for this?” she asks, flipping through something on her tablet, probably the calendar she’s micromanaged for me since forever.“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I mutter, staring out at the blur of buildings passing by.Am I ready though? I don’t know. My mind drifts to the last time I stood in my father’s office, barely escaping the scrutiny that was hurled at me. No preparation, no defense — I’d walked into that room a girl playing dress-up. I still remember the way those boardroom vultures had smirked, like they couldn’t wait to watch me fail.I haven’t heard from my father, Elliot Jones, in weeks. Not a call, not a message, not even a col
Between kisses that leave me breathless and stolen touches that make me forget the world outside, Ric and I pore over the details of my presentation for the rest of the day. It’s a strange bubble we’ve created, a space where nothing else exists — no expectations, no consequences. Just the steady rhythm of our work and the occasional hum of desire pulling us back into each other’s arms.But the bubble was always bound to burst.The next morning, as sunlight creeps through the floor-to-ceiling windows, reality rears its ugly head. My phone buzzes once, twice, three times. I don’t bother checking it, knowing exactly who’s on the other end. The knocks come next, sharp and demanding, echoing through the penthouse like an alarm bell. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.“Who is it?” Ric’s voice is low, groggy from sleep, but his body is already tense beside me.“Anya,” I whisper, dread curling in my stomach. She always ignores the bell, and knocks instead whenever she’s fuming.He sits
I call Maisie and tell her not to come in today. No cooking, no cleaning. I tell her I need space, a day to myself. It’s a lie, of course, but she doesn’t press. When Meera calls asking if she can swing by, I cut her off with another lie. “I’m binge-watching some mindless show,” I tell her, feigning a lazy yawn. “Having you here would just remind me of the tragedy from yesterday. Let’s catch up later?” Anya’s call comes next. She wants to go over interview questions, her usual no-nonsense approach taking precedence over everything. “I can’t,” I say, forcing a hoarse rasp into my voice. “I think I’m coming down with something. Maybe tomorrow?” One lie after another. I weave them effortlessly, piling them up like bricks to fortify my cocoon. Because the truth is, I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to do anything except stay locked up in my penthouse with Ric. Ric, whose lips are currently tracing a path of fire down my thighs. My fingers knot in his hair, pulling and ho
We fall asleep on the couch that night, tangled together in a mess of bad decisions and fleeting comfort. Ric’s arms remain firm around my waist, and my head rests on his chest, rising and falling with his steady breaths. The nightmares don’t come, and I wonder if it’s the warmth of his embrace or the devil’s presence itself keeping them at bay.I’ve killed people, Natalie.The words echo in my head as the first rays of sunlight filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing us in soft, golden light. My cheek is pressed against his chest, his heartbeat steady and strong beneath me. For a while, I just lie there, letting the rhythm soothe me in ways I don’t understand, in ways it shouldn’t.His arms don’t budge, even as I lift my head to study his face. The man who held me so tenderly last night. The man who kisses like he’s burning but pulls away like he’s drowning. The man who has killed people.I trace my finger along the lines of his face, memorizing the edges as if they could
I laugh bitterly, the sound harsh even to my own ears. “Yourself? That’s what this is about? You think you’re some kind of monster I can’t handle? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds, Ric?”His eyes darken, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You don’t understand, Natalie. I’ve done things… things that would make you look at me differently. Things that would make you run.”“Then explain,” I challenge, my hands tightening on his face. “Stop assuming I can’t handle it.”He hesitates, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. When he finally speaks, his words are raw and jagged, like they’re being ripped from his soul. “I’ve killed people, Natalie.”Suddenly I can’t breathe. All the air around us seems to have vanished. I blink, my hands slipping from his face as his confession settles between us like a bomb.“What?” My voice is barely audible, but it’s the only word I can manage.He doesn’t look away, his gaze piercing. “I’ve killed people. It’s not something I can take back, and it
I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline coursing through me or the way his dark eyes hold mine, as if he’s searching for something he’s terrified to find.“Try,” I say again, my voice shaky. It’s a plea, a desperate attempt to save this. Save us. Whatever we are, I know it’s worth saving. I don’t know what thoughts are swirling behind those dark eyes, what decisions they’re weighing, what explanation he’s trying to weave into coherent words. All I know is that — whatever it is, I’ll take it. God, I hate him for making me feel like this — so exposed, so vulnerable. But I hate myself more for still wanting him, for needing him, even now.And when his eyes return to me it’s all I can do to not run to him and wrap my arms around him. A part of my brain tries to remind me of the way he dismissed me, disregarding all the time we spent together, all the kisses. But he did just say that he couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t matter, right? “Ric,” I prompt, unable to keep my patience any longer. “I
You may not have even realised.Those words follow me for the rest of the evening, haunting my every waking moment. I didn’t realise, no. Not until just a few hours ago when it seemed like a possibility. The possibility of being pregnant with Ric’s child. I don’t know what I was expecting to hear, until the very last second before the doctor reentered with the results. But miscarriage had never struck my mind. It seems so bizarre now. A cruel joke, almost. Here’s a problem, but wait there’s a solution. And I’m not satisfied with either. The doctor said there had to be some more tests that needed to be done because she found something suspicious. I was too dazed to be concerned, but Meera stepped forward and asked if it was something to worry about. A lost child.I don’t think anything can take your attention away from that. A child you didn’t even realise you were carrying. On the way back, Meera tries to uplift my sullen mood by saying that it wasn’t quite a baby — just a bunch
I can’t confront Anya right away because Chris and I are called in for the chemistry read.The read itself goes… smoothly. Better than I expected, honestly. There’s always been an effortless comfort between Chris and me. He was my first co-actor, my first on-screen partner, and a friend despite the detachment over the years. Sliding into our roles together feels natural, as if we’ve done this a hundred times before.The scene is heavy — raw emotions, unresolved tension, a life-or-death moment between our characters — but somehow, we make it work. When the final lines are spoken, the room is still, save for a few murmurs of approval. From the looks on everyone’s faces, it’s clear they enjoyed watching us. That sense of accomplishment washes over me, momentarily lifting the weight I’ve been carrying.Afterward, Chris’s casting is officially confirmed.“I just found out,” he says, his grin wide as he approaches me.“Congratulations!” I beam, pulling him into a brief hug. “You’ll be amazin
[NATALIE]The clinking of silverware and the hum of conversation surround me as I sit at the corner table of our favorite Italian restaurant. It’s the eve of our second wedding anniversary, and Michael insisted on dining out, even though I would’ve preferred a quiet night at home. He’s always been the social butterfly, the life of every party, while I’m the grounded one—the devoted wife who treasures our private moments, despite being a budding actress in Hollywood.I sip my wine, but there’s this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that something’s off. I made an effort to dress up tonight, slipping into a red silk dress that hugs my curves in all the right places. I look amazing—everyone’s eyes linger on me, except for Michael’s. He hasn’t even looked at me properly, let alone complimented me. The ache in my chest deepens. I know our relationship has faltered despite everything I’ve done to keep it together. The spark that once made him fall head over heels for me has faded. La...
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