IN THE QUIET OF HIS OFFICE
He's her boss: distant, controlled, and used to being alone at the top.
She's the cleaner: unnoticed, soft-spoken, and invisible to everyone but the empty halls she tends each night.
Their conversations are brief. Their glances linger. And in the silence between them, something fragile and unexpected begins to grow.
But love was never part of the job description... and some lines aren't meant to be crossed.
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Chapter 5
The air in the office the next night was different. It wasn't just the lingering humidity of the storm; it was the weight of what had happened in the elevator. Elena felt as though she were walking through a dream, the sensation of Julian's hands on her waist still humming beneath her skin like a low-frequency vibration.
She tried to be invisible. She moved through the corridors with her head down, her mop bucket trailing a scent of pine that felt like a shield. But she was being watched.
Sarah was a veteran cleaner at Sterling Heights. She was a woman who lived for the hierarchy, a person who believed that the only way to survive was to know everyone's secrets while keeping her own behind a wall of bitterness. She had seen the way Julian Vane's eyes lingered on the 64th-floor corridors lately. She had seen the way Elena walked with a slight daze in her step.
Jealousy is a quiet poison. For Sarah, who had spent ten years being ignored by men like Julian, Elena's sudden "visibility" was an insult.
Elena was in Julian's private office, polishing the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city lights were blurred by a light mist. She didn't hear the door open.
"The CEO's office usually takes twenty minutes," Sarah's voice sliced through the silence. "You've been in here for forty-five, Elena."
Elena jumped, her heart hammering. Sarah was leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed to slits.
"I was... there were prints on the glass," Elena stammered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Prints? Or are you looking for something else?" Sarah stepped into the room, her gaze traveling to the mahogany desk where the origami crane still sat. "You're playing a dangerous game, girl. Men like him don't see people like us as people. We're just background noise."
Before Elena could respond, the heavy oak doors swung wider. Julian walked in.
He was in the middle of a phone call, his voice a sharp, clipped staccato as he discussed a hostile takeover. He stopped mid-sentence when he saw both women in his office. His eyes went straight to Elena, his expression softening for a fraction of a second-a tell-tale sign that Sarah didn't miss.
"I'll call you back," Julian said into the phone, hanging up without waiting for an answer. He looked at Sarah. "Is there a problem?"
"No problem, Mr. Vane," Sarah said, her voice dripping with mock-humility. "I was just telling Elena here that she needs to focus on her work. She seems a bit... distracted tonight."
Julian's jaw tightened. He walked to his desk, but he didn't sit. He stood in the center of the room, his presence making the air feel thin. "Elena is doing her job perfectly. In fact, I asked her to stay late to organize some of my personal files."
It was a lie. A protective, clumsy lie.
Sarah's eyebrows shot up. "Personal files? Since when do the cleaners handle the CEO's paperwork?"
"Since I decided they do," Julian said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, icy register. "Do you have other floors to attend to, Sarah? Or should I call the night supervisor to discuss your sudden interest in my management style?"
Sarah turned pale. She shot a look of pure, unadulterated venom at Elena before scurrying out of the room.
The silence that followed was heavy with the scent of an impending storm. Elena stood by the window, her hands trembling around the handle of her squeegee.
"She knows," Elena whispered.
"She knows nothing," Julian said, stepping toward her. He didn't stop until he was standing just outside the circle of her personal space. "She suspects, because she can feel the change in the air when I'm near you."
"Julian, you can't protect me like that," she said, finally looking at him. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "You're the CEO. You just lied for a cleaner. If that gets out, they'll ruin me. They'll say I'm... I'm using you."
"Let them say it," he said, his voice rough. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm-not the navy fabric of her jumpsuit this time, but the bare skin of her wrist.
The contact was electric. Elena gasped, her pulse leaping against his fingertips.
"You don't understand," she breathed, her heart fluttering. "You live in a world of glass walls. Everyone is watching you. And I... I'm the person who cleans the glass so they can see you better. I can't be part of the view."
Julian didn't pull away. He stepped closer, his chest nearly touching hers. He looked down at her, his grey eyes stormy and desperate. He wanted to pull her to him; he wanted to tear down the glass walls and the hierarchies and the rules.
"Maybe I'm tired of being the view," he whispered.
He leaned down, his face inches from hers. The tension was a living thing, a heat that made the room feel like it was on fire. He was going to kiss her. Elena knew it. She wanted it so badly it hurt.
But then, the intercom on his desk buzzed-a sharp, mechanical intrusion.
"Mr. Vane? The board is waiting in the conference room. It's urgent."
Julian closed his eyes, his forehead resting against Elena's for one agonizing second. He let out a ragged breath and stepped back. The spell was broken, but the fallout had only just begun.
Outside, in the hallway, Sarah was already on her phone, her voice a low, frantic hiss as she spoke to the night supervisor.
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8.4
Palermo does not forgive.
Neither does it forget.
When Guerrero Valenti, the feared leader of the Vikings, vanished, the city exhaled a dangerous calm-but only for a moment. In the shadows, enemies waited. Rivals sharpened their knives. And one woman bore a secret that could ignite every street in the city.
Lucia Romano carried the child of a man who had disappeared into legend and rumor. A son who had not been claimed, not protected, not named.
The city whispered of him with venom: the bastard of the Vikings.
The boy was fragile, but he was a storm waiting to erupt. And every night, Palermo tested him. Masked men tried to snatch him from his crib. Fire, steel, and blood became his lullabies. Yet he survived. Every threat only sharpened his instincts, every scream hardened his mother's resolve.
But whispers spread faster than steel through the night-rumors of a man returning. A shadow that would claim everything, sparking fear in every heart:
Guerrero Valenti.
The father who abandoned him.
The legend whose name alone commands obedience.
The storm that will rise, carrying vengeance, blood, and fire.
And when he comes,
Every man who dared call the bastard his enemy will fall.
Every street, every roof, every whispered corner will bow to the son of Guerrero Valenti or be washed in blood.
This is the story of survival.
Of fire and steel.
Of a mother and her son.
Of a father's return.
Even the earth is getting ready to absorb blood ... the blood of those who call the legitimate son of the Vikings a "BASTARD", and collect necks........the necks of those fallen by the sword of GUERRERO VALANTI.
And upon his return Heads will bow to the one they called a BASTARD .
9.3
"Food made by a person I don't like is naturally detestable,"
Lily didn't expect these hurtful words to come from him-her husband of almost two years- Roberto Whitlock.
She had married him out of love, even though their marriage was a transaction between two families.
She thought she could change him, but it turned out it was just her fantasy.
And he soon brought her to the reality of their marriage which had been hanging by a thin, strained thread this whole time.
"Sign it... My heart can never beat for you in this lifetime,"
After she signed the divorce papers, she made him stand at the back of long line of suitors.
7.5
WARNING: This book contains mature content, explicit scenes, and dark themes. Reader discretion is advised.
"Maybe... maybe I don't ever want to be anyone's wife again."
Betrayed. Banished. Broken.
For eight years, Selena was the devoted Luna of the Knightstorm Pack, until her alpha husband branded her a whore, stripped her of their children, and cast her out.
Years later, she's risen from the ashes as a renowned artist, fiercely independent and done with men forever. But when her ex-husband discovers the devastating truth, that a cruel scheme made him punish the wrong woman, he will stop at nothing to win her back.
His reckless, alcoholic brother has always wanted her too.
And then there's the powerful alpha trapped in a loveless open marriage, willing to burn down his twenty-year union the moment he scents his second-chance mate in Selena.
Three alphas.
One woman who swore she would never belong to anyone again.
As old wounds resurface and new desires ignite, Selena must fight not only for her stolen children, but for the heart she thought was dead.
Who will claim the broken Luna... and will she ever let any of them in?
7.2
Blurb:
They said loving him would ruin her, and they were right.
Adrianna never meant to fall for Xavier Palmer, the cold, untouchable billionaire whose name alone could silence a room. He was dangerous, controlling, and completely out of her world.
But the moment he claimed her as his, there was no escape.
What started as a forced bond quickly turned into something far more dangerous. Obsession and possession, a love so intense it blurred the line between protection and destruction.
Then everything shattered.
A brutal accident leaves Adrianna fighting for her life... and Xavier drowning in guilt, rage, and a darkness no one has ever seen before. While she lies unconscious, he hunts for the truth behind the attack, unaware that betrayal is closer than he thinks.
When Adrianna finally wakes up, nothing is the same.
Secrets have been buried, a child has been lost, and enemies are closing in.
But Xavier has made one thing clear.
He will destroy anyone who dares touch what belongs to him, even if it means becoming the monster she fears.
Even if it means losing her forever.
7.1
I was the top commander of a black-ops military program. After slaughtering my way through a hellish mission, I reached the extraction helicopter, trusting my second-in-command to watch my back.
But the moment our hands locked, he didn't pull me up. Instead, he plunged a syringe of lethal neurotoxin directly into my neck.
He aimed his gun at my chest, coldly stating that I was too dangerous to live. My lungs stopped, and I died in a pool of my own blood. But the endless blackness suddenly shattered. My consciousness violently forced its way into a new, broken shell. I woke up in a freezing alley, soaked in muddy rain.
This body belonged to seventeen-year-old Eliza Wyatt. A massive wave of foreign memories crashed into my brain. Her own younger sister had just stood at the top of the stairs with a mocking smile, watching street thugs beat Eliza to death.
"Take good care of the Wyatt family's eldest daughter. Tonight is the night she finally disappears."
The endless humiliation, the cold stares of her family, and the brutal betrayal by her own blood flashed before my eyes. Why was this fragile girl treated like garbage and pushed to her death by the very people who should have protected her?
I looked down at my pale, trembling hands. The top commander was dead, but in this bleeding shell, Eliza Wyatt was very much alive. I picked up a switchblade from the bloody puddle and stood up in the storm. It was time to hunt.
8.8
I spun the dial on the hidden wall safe, expecting to find the Glock 19 Aiden insisted I keep.
Instead, I found a ledger proving my husband, the Mafia's most feared Enforcer, was funding a secret family with my dead father's money.
For seven years, I had been his obedient doll. I cleaned the blood off his knuckles and justified his violence.
But the ledger showed he had siphoned my entire inheritance into a trust for a child he had with his brother's wife.
When I tried to leave, his mistress framed me as a spy.
Aiden didn't ask for proof. He didn't hesitate.
He dragged me to a damp warehouse, hooded me, and beat me until my ribs cracked.
He left me to rot in the dark, ignoring the diamond bracelet on my wrist—the very one he had gifted me the day before as a symbol of his "ownership."
He thought he had broken me. He thought I would die in that basement, a silent collateral of his rage.
But he made a fatal mistake. He left me alive.
I escaped through a ventilation grate and ran straight to the one man Aiden feared most: his sworn enemy, Jensen Levy.
"Make me a weapon," I told him.
Two years later, I walked back into Aiden's office.
Not as his battered wife, but as the CEO of the corporation that had just bought his empire's debt.
He looked at me with horror, realizing the ghost he created had come back to burn him down.
"Hello, Aiden," I said, pressing a high-voltage tactical pen against his chest.
"You're trespassing."