Ownership of the heart
Four hours. Two strangers. One dead elevator.Aria Vance is just a mid-level manager at Blackwood Global, a trillion-dollar empire she's served for years without ever seeing the face of the man at the top.
She's overworked, under slept, and currently trapped in an elevator with a man who looks like a fallen god and speaks with the warmth of a glacier.When a sudden fever leaves Aria clinging to the mysterious stranger for warmth, she thinks she's hit rock bottom.
She doesn't know that the "executive" she's drooling on is actually Killian Blackwood-the Trillionaire King of the North American Packs.Killian knows the moment Aria touches him. The scent of rain and starlight. The spark in his blood.
Mate.
But when the doors finally pry open, Killian does the only thing his socially stunted heart knows how to do: he retreats behind his icy mask. Now, Aria is determined to ignore the "scary guy" from the elevator, while Killian-the man who owns the city-finds himself "accidentally" inspecting her department every single day.
But in a world of pack politics, corporate sabotage, and ancient blood feuds, being the King's mate is a death sentence. Aria doesn't know he's a wolf. She doesn't know he's her boss. And Killian? He just doesn't know how to tell her without losing her forever.
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Chapter 6
The 20th floor was in a state of absolute, unmitigated panic.
"He's coming," Maya whispered, peering over the edge of her cubicle like a soldier in a trench. "The Omen has been sighted. The elevators just chimed, and I saw a flash of a charcoal suit that cost more than my internal organs."
Aria froze, her highlighter bleeding a neon-yellow puddle onto her report. "Who? Jax?"
"No," Leo hissed, frantically hiding his stash of desk snacks. "The Big Bad. The Robot. The guy who you apparently thinks that his lap is a lounge chair. Blackwood is on the floor."
Aria's heart did a violent somersault. Ever since her "Great Escape" from his office, she had been trying to blend into the shadows. She had the billion dollars tucked away in a high-yield savings account she was too afraid to touch, and she had been taking the stairs-all twenty flights of them-just to avoid the elevators.
"He's never been to the twentieth floor," Aria whispered, her eyes wide. "There's nothing here but dusty archives and middle management. Why is he here?"
"I think we both know why, 'Baby Please,'" Maya teased, though her hands were shaking as she straightened her keyboard.
Then, the air in the room changed. It became heavy, charged with the scent of a brewing storm and expensive sandalwood. The usual office chatter died instantly. You could have heard a paperclip drop.
Killian Blackwood rounded the corner.
He didn't look like a man on an inspection. He looked like a predator surveying his territory. He walked with a slow, predatory grace, his hands clasped behind his back. Behind him, Jax was trying-and failing-to look professional, though he caught Aria's eye and gave her a frantic "good luck" wink.
Killian stopped at the head of the department. His icy blue eyes swept over the room, causing several accountants to physically shrink into their chairs. Finally, his gaze locked onto Aria.
Aria tried to look busy. She picked up a stapler. She realized it was empty. She picked up a pen. It was upside down.
"Mr. Blackwood," the Department Manager, a nervous man named Mr. Henderson, stammered as he hurried over. "We... we weren't expecting an unscheduled audit. Is there a problem with the quarterly projections?"Killian didn't look at Henderson. His eyes stayed on Aria, tracking the way her pulse was jumping in the hollow of her throat. "I've decided to take a personal interest in the... ergonomics of the lower floors," Killian rumbled. His voice carried across the room, deep and resonant. "I'm told the archives are particularly... inefficient."
"The archives?" Henderson blinked. "But sir, that's just Miss Vance's area. It's quite small-"
"I'll start there," Killian interrupted.
He walked straight toward Aria's desk. Every step he took felt like a drumbeat in her chest. He stopped right in front of her, leaning down so his shadow completely eclipsed her workspace.
"Miss Vance," he murmured. The corner of his mouth twitched-a private, dangerous little half-smile. "I noticed you haven't spent your 'settlement' yet. I assumed you'd be halfway to a private island by now."
Aria looked up, her face heating up. "I like my job, Mr. Blackwood. And I like my coworkers. I'm not for sale."
"I'm not buying you, Aria," he whispered, leaning closer until only she could hear him. His eyes turned a dark, molten gold for a split second. "I'm investing. Now, show me these archives. I believe we have a lot to discuss regarding... safety."
Aria looked at her friends. Maya was giving her a thumbs-up; Leo was pretending to be a statue. With a sigh of defeat, Aria stood up. "Right this way, sir."
She led him toward the back of the floor, into the narrow, dimly lit rows of filing cabinets. As soon as the heavy door swung shut behind them, cutting off the view of the rest of the office, the atmosphere shifted from "corporate" to"territorial."
Aria turned to face him, her back against a shelf of 2019 tax records. "You can't be here, Killian. People are talking. They think you're going to fire everyone because I sat on you."
Killian didn't answer with words. He stepped into her space, his large hands reaching out to grip the edges of the metal shelves on either side of her head. He caged her in, his massive frame blocking out the light.
"Let them talk," he rasped. "I spent ten years building this company so I could do whatever I wanted. And right now, what I want is to know why my mate is hiding in a room full of dusty paper."
"I'm not hiding!" Aria protested, though her breath was hitching. "I'm working!"
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8.8
I only needed the job.
I didn't expect the man who owned the building... to own my future.
When my world falls apart, I accept a one-year contract as the personal assistant to Grey Franklin-cold, powerful, and dangerously irresistible. He has rules. No emotions. No attachments. No crossing lines.
But lines blur when late nights turn into stolen glances... and his carefully controlled world begins to crack.
He says love is a weakness.
I say some things can't be bought.
In a world of money, secrets, and power, falling for a billionaire was never part of the deal-
but walking away might cost us everything.
9.2
He killed my brother. I swore I'd make him pay. But now I'm trapped in his penthouse... and I think I'm falling for him.
As the youngest son of the Romano mafia, Luca swore vengeance on the man who killed his brother-Damian Moretti, the cold, ruthless billionaire don of the rival Moretti family.
But when a failed assassination attempt leaves Luca at Damian's mercy, he's not tortured. He's... kept.
And he says Luca belongs to him now.
7.1
I was just a wolfless Rogue, keeping my head down to earn a temporary sanctuary in the Blackwood Pack.
But everything changed when Alpha Damien, spiraling into madness after his mate Chloe publicly rejected him, forced me into a dangerous game. He commanded me to be his fake lover for an upcoming Gala to shatter his ex's arrogant ego.
I thought it was just a temporary business deal to secure my safety.
Instead, it painted a massive target on my back.
The high-ranking she-wolves sneered at me, calling me a filthy seductress, and Chloe herself stormed in, demanding I stay away from her Alpha.
But the real nightmare wasn't the pack's hatred—it was Damien.
The safe boundaries of our fake arrangement completely shattered when his act turned into a terrifying, possessive obsession.
He trapped me in his home, his feral inner wolf purring at my scent, and kissed me with a consuming hunger that triggered my darkest memories of being abused by an Alpha.
I didn't understand why the most powerful, ruthless Alpha in the region was suddenly obsessed with a broken nobody.
Why did his maddened beast only quiet down when I touched him?
I had sworn to never belong to an Alpha, to never be treated as property again.
But when I tried to run from his manor, he didn't let me go.
He locked me inside his private jet, caging me against the wall as his eyes flashed with a dark, predatory gold.
"I don't care what you are, I just want you."
As the cabin doors sealed shut, I realized the real battle for my freedom had just begun.
7.8
VANESSA
They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But for me, that's not enough. I want it to hit so hard they beg for their lives.
Five years ago, my own husband left me to die in a fire. I watched him walk away, his eyes full of hate. In my last moments, I thought about how unfair it was, that I was dying while the people who did wrong were free. As if some higher power heard me, I was saved.
Now, I'm back and my only purpose is to give Ethan Croft exactly what he deserves. He took everything from me, and now I will take everything he loves, in the most painful way possible.
I have it all planned out. But there's something or someone else I didn't plan on. Ceron Morrison. He's tall, dark, and dangerously handsome. He's a mystery and a distraction I can't afford. He's a threat to the revenge I have sworn to complete.
But no matter what comes my way, I'll make Ethan pay. I'll burn his entire world to the ground, even if it means I get burned in the flames, too.
CERON
Vanessa Ashford has taken over my mind without even trying.
The first time I saw her, she was putting a thief on the ground at the airport with a single, perfect kick. I was captivated. As the heir to a powerful family, I'm used to getting anything I want. And I want her. I want to know her secrets.
Vanessa has built high walls around herself, but I am not a quitter. As I slowly peel back the layers, I'm discovering a past filled with pain. I can see the fire of vengeance burning in her eyes, a fire so strong it could destroy her.
My family wants me to secure our legacy with a sensible, strategic marriage. But all I can think about is the woman who wears her revenge like a custom-made gown. I know I should walk away. But something in me can't stand the thought of her facing the darkness alone.
The real question is, when she finally plays her last card, will I be the one to save her? Or will I just become another victim caught in the crossfire?
8.1
Chantal Lewis's family legacy was twenty-four hours away from a fifty-million-dollar foreclosure.
Desperate to save her parents, she sold her soul, offering herself as a paper wife to Dell Valdez, a ruthless Wall Street billionaire needing a quick PR fix.
But Dell didn't just buy her; he trapped her in a living nightmare.
He forced her into a brutal three-year repayment plan she could never afford, treated her like a disposable prop, and deliberately leaked a scandalous paparazzi photo to destroy her hard-earned professional credibility.
Worst of all, the first time his calloused hand touched hers, a violent, terrifying flashback assaulted her brain.
The scorching heat of his palms and the distinct, dark scent of his cedarwood cologne perfectly matched the repressed memory of a pitch-black room where she was pinned to a mattress against her will.
Chantal didn't understand why her cold-blooded fake husband felt exactly like the monster from her unspoken trauma.
She understood even less why, after months of ignoring her, he was suddenly acting violently jealous and possessive when she merely smiled at another man!
Why did his scent match her attacker, and what was he truly planning?
Furious, she called him to threaten a divorce, only for his voice to drop into a lethal whisper.
"Try it. See what happens."
Before she could process his deadly threat, her office phone rang.
"Ms. Lewis," her receptionist trembled. "Your brother is in the lobby. He owes money to some very bad people, and they are coming here right now."
8.5
I was four months pregnant, weighing over two hundred pounds, and my heart was failing from experimental treatments forced on me as a child. My doctor looked at me with clinical detachment and told me I was in a death sentence: if I kept the baby, I would die, and if I tried to remove it, I would die.
Desperate for a lifeline, I called my father, Francis Acosta, to tell him I was sick and pregnant. I expected a father's love, but all I got was a cold, sharp blade of a voice.
"Then do it quietly," he said. "Don't embarrass Candi. Her debutante ball is coming up."
He didn't just reject me; he erased me. My trust fund was frozen, and I was told I was no longer an Acosta. My fiancé, Auston, had already discarded me, calling me a "bloated whale" while he looked for a thinner, wealthier replacement. I left New York on a Greyhound bus, weeping into a bag of chips, a broken woman the world considered a mistake.
I couldn't understand how my own father could tell me to die "quietly" just to save face for a party. I didn't know why I had been a lab rat for my family’s pharmaceutical ambitions, or how they could sleep at night while I was left to rot in the gray drizzle of the city.
Five years later, the doors of JFK International Airport slid open. I stepped onto the marble floor in red-soled stilettos, my body lean, lethal, and carved from years of blood and sweat. I wasn't the "whale" anymore; I was a ghost coming back to haunt them.
With my daughter by my side and a medical reputation that terrified the global elite, I was ready to dismantle the Acosta empire piece by piece.
"Tell Francis to wash his neck," I whispered to the skyline. "I'm home."