Minutes passed... maybe longer, but then time warped in the dim living room, stretched thin and uncooperative, measured only by the uneven rise and fall of his chest and the slow, frightening spread of blood beneath her hands. Dianna’s arms trembled from the strain. Her shoulders burned. Her knees pressed painfully into the cold marble floor, numb at first, then screaming as sensation returned in waves. Still, she did not move, not an inch. Right now, the feud between them… every argument, every sharp word, every slammed door, had dissolved into irrelevance. Pride had no place here, neither did resentment. All that mattered was that Jackson stayed alive, the room smelled faintly of antiseptic from the half used first-aid kit she’d torn open minutes ago, mixed with iron and sweat and something far deeper…fear. The lights were dimmed, one lamp flickering slightly, casting long shadows that clung to the walls like witnesses who refused to leave. Jackson’s sobs had been vi

Two days later, Dianna decided to go back home to ask for help from his father and she was hoping his heart wouldn't become obstinate towards this. Yes Jackson doesn't deserve leniency not after everything, but Jackson was still her husband at the end of the day, they weren't yet divorced and they had Leo together. She didn't want her child to go through a weird profiling when he is grown by calling his father an ex-convict or murderer. She felt now is the time to make things right. The laughter reached her before the room did. It floated down the corridor, soft, bubbling and unguarded. A sound untouched by fear or debt or bloodstained floors. A child’s laugh and giggle. Dianna stopped cold at the threshold of the sitting room. For a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe and Finn Guler sat on the rug, his suit jacket discarded like an afterthought, white shirt sleeves rolled past his forearms. The man who ruled boardrooms and broke negotiations with a glance was on the

In London, UK Juliana Andreas was having the time of her life and living quite differently than she had for fourteen years. She woke slowly, the way one does when sleep loosens its grip reluctantly, inch by inch. Light filtered through the curtains first—soft, pale, unfamiliar. It brushed against her eyelids, warming them, coaxing her awake. Juliana shifted, expecting the firm modest mattress of her own room, the quiet discipline of a life she had always lived carefully. Instead, her fingers grazed silk sheets, and then she froze. The scent reached her next—warm coffee, butter melting, something toasted, and beneath it all, a familiar masculine note that made her chest tighten before her mind even caught up, Andrew! Her eyes opened fully then, high ceilings and dark wood. Clean lines softened by morning light, a room that felt lived in but controlled, powerful yet intimate. Andrew Tate’s bedroom. Her heart skipped, not in panic, but in that strange flutter that had becom

The quiet stretched, not awkward, not heavy, but it was just full. The kind of silence that didn’t demand words because it was already understood. Andrew’s hand moved in slow, absent patterns against her arm, his thumb brushing the fabric there like he was grounding himself as much as comforting her. Juliana stayed still, afraid that if she shifted even slightly, the moment might dissolve into something unreal... something she’d wake up from and miss. “I should say something sensible right now,” he murmured at last. She smiled against his chest. “You don’t have to.” “That’s what worries me.” His voice carried a soft humor, but beneath it was something earnest. “You make it easy to forget the careful version of myself.” She lifted her head just enough to look at him. “Is that a bad thing?” He met her gaze, thoughtful. “Not bad. Just… too significant, besides, you are beautiful and every time we get this close something in me just wants to have you and make you mine. You a

Princewill woke up before the sun. It wasn’t the alarm that pulled him from sleep, oh no, he hadn’t set one. It was instinct, that same sharp awareness that had guided him through negotiations, hostile rooms, and power plays. For a moment, he didn’t move how could he? The room was quiet, washed in the faint blue gray light of early morning. The city outside was still half-asleep, its noise muted, distant. Then he felt her. Cassandra lay beside him, turned slightly toward him, one arm draped loosely across his chest as if she had reached for him sometime in the night and decided half-awake that he was safe enough to keep. Her breathing was slow and unguarded, it was peaceful. That was the problem... Princewill stared at the ceiling, jaw tightening. You stayed too long, his mind warned. Memories from the night before pressed in not sharp, not overwhelming, but warm and vivid. Her laugh, low and surprised and the way her voice softened when she said his name. The