Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I don’t cry. I don’t scream.
I don’t get mad—I get even.
So I bring home another man.
A stranger with wicked eyes and a smile sharp enough to carve me open. I let him have me in the house I share with a liar.
A moment of weakness? Maybe.
A moment of revenge? Definitely.
But he saw me—the darkness, the hunger, the parts my husband hated—and he wanted more.
I ran before I could fall deeper into his abyss.
A year later, I crash one of the city’s most forbidden parties…
And land right back in the middle of his depraved world.
Only this time, he’s promised to another.
And he vows he’s not letting me go.
*Standalone*
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
LILITH
Dear Diary,
Tonight, I saw him, and I think he saw me too…
xox
I hate my job, hate it. If I could quit, I would.
I drum my nails on the bar as I sit there, drinking straight vodka. My husband tells me it’s not very ladylike and I should have some type of soda with it.
My lips curl at the simple thought of that.
Ladylike.
Fuck him and his ladylike bullshit.
“Two whiskeys.”
I turn to the sound of that voice. I’ve seen him a lot. His deep, gravelly voice hits my ears as he leans against the bar, only inches separating his arm and mine, which is still resting near the glass of vodka I’m nursing.
This is the first time I’ve been this close to him. Lifting my drink to my lips, I watch as he picks up both glasses and walks back to the seating area, not once glancing in my direction, dressed in a black pinstripe suit, hair messy, and eyes that could read your soul.
While I have never looked directly into those eyes, I watch the people around him and how they look at him.
They all seem to worship him if he gives them even a hint of attention.
I would probably, too. Actually, maybe I’d have him do the worshiping.
A small smile touches my lips. It’s something my husband sucks at.
I’ve never really known what I want to do with my life, but I’ve always known it’s not what I am doing right now.
Being a wife, an employee to a boss who couldn’t care less about his staff?
I’d rather slit his throat than work another day.
Bad thoughts…
Bad thoughts…
I have to remind myself that it is not normal.
Wishing someone’s death is not normal.
“Another?” the bartender asks.
I shake my head. I have to go home now. My husband will be expecting me.
So, why does my stomach pitch with dread at having to leave this bar and walk into that sterile, pristine hellhole?
I stand, my heels touch the tiled floor, and when I turn, I find those eyes staring at me from where he sits, even as the person in front of him keeps talking and gesturing with his hands. He watches me with a penetrating gaze, quietly sipping his whiskey as I walk toward the door, and it’s unsettling in the best way.
My heels pause, and I wonder, what does he see?
He smirks, and as he does, I grimace before I turn and walk out.
ONE
LILITH
Dear Diary,
When someone bleeds out, how long does it take them to die?
I’ve googled it, but it gives me different answers.
I hope no one searches my Google history or even this diary.
If my last therapist saw it, that bitch would lock me up and throw away the key.
Damn! That woman is a cunt.
xox
I have bad thoughts.
Really bad thoughts.
And I don’t think it’s normal.
It can’t be, right?
Maybe I was broken somewhere along the way when the right pieces were chipped off and replaced by something more sinister.
Gone.
My husband tells me I have issues and that I should see a therapist.
I don’t want to see a therapist again.
I don’t want to tell a stranger the inner workings of my fucked-up mind; the last one was shit.
I tried that a long time ago, just once, and she told me I should only have happy thoughts.
Like, what the actual fuck does that mean?
How do you simply have happy thoughts?
How is that even possible?
Taking a deep breath, I open my car door.
I quit work today. Deven is going to be angry, so I’ve been sitting in the car outside of our house for what feels like ages.
He knows I hate what I do and hate dealing with people.
In fact, I despise most people.
I surprised myself when I married Deven. I’d like to say he got me when I was at my most vulnerable—drunk. But, unfortunately, I was sober.
And now it’s been two years. I had hoped his normalness would rub off on me. Somehow, being a wife, sharing a home, and doing a regular job would tame that darkness inside me.
I first met him through my job—the one I just quit. He was a client at the construction business I worked for. I handled the accounts for all the high-profile clients. He was building a house. It’s the house I’m looking at right now—the one I moved into three years ago, a year before we got married.
I wouldn’t say it was love at first sight.
Honestly, I wonder if it was lust at first sight.
He smiled that perfect white teeth smile and spoke to me one night. He’s a smooth-talker, Deven. I guess that’s how he got his job as a radio host. I never dreamed I would be with someone like him, someone so clean cut, who seems to have their life so put together, or at least I thought so, but he kept coming into the office every day and talking to me.