Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
As a man who built an empire on absolute control, I don’t negotiate, and I sure as hell don’t do feelings. My arrangements are always clear: no promises, no forever.
Then came Rory. She doesn’t just capture my attention—she consumes it.
I thought I owned the game.
I thought I owned us.
Until Rory did the unthinkable and walked away.
I gave her space, but when news reaches me that she’s been offered a job on the other side of the country, the illusion of letting her go burns to the ground. Packing up and moving thousands of miles away from me? Not on my watch.
As I close the distance between us, I find out she isn’t just running from us—she’s hiding a secret. She’s about to learn that I’m not letting her go, and nothing will stop me from going after what’s mine
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
prologue
VIKE
Three Weeks Earlier
My alarm blares to life on my nightstand. I slap a hand over the offending device, silencing it, before I roll over, my hand sweeping across the mattress, seeking the familiarity of the woman who’s usually in bed with me. Only my palm meets nothing but cool, smooth, Egyptian cotton. I don’t bother opening my eyes, instead letting my finger drag across the empty space. She’d been in my bed every night for weeks and became an addiction that rivaled making billions of dollars every year.
When I finally force my eyes open, the harsh Seattle morning light bleeds through the slats of the blinds, and I make a mental note to have the fucking things replaced. Where before it didn’t bother me, now it pisses me off something fierce. The silence in the house is deafening. No longer does it seem peaceful. The quiet lazy morning I’d been looking forward to is now hollow. I sit up with the sheets pooling around my waist and take a deep breath, hoping the cold air will clear the thick fog rolling through my brain.
It does the complete opposite, filling my lungs with her—cherry blossom, sugar, and a touch of vanilla. Her scent is everywhere, hanging in the air, woven through the sheets, silently mocking the space she’s supposed to be.
“Motherfucker.” Like a tidal wave, it all comes crashing back. The fog doesn’t clear, it sticks around, heavy, like a lead weight sitting in the pit of my stomach.
Last night.
My eyes drift to the open doorway of the bedroom, looking down the hallway that leads to an open-concept living and kitchen area. Even from here, I can see the edge of the dark granite island. My jaw tightens at the memory as I close my eyes. It’s agonizingly vivid.
Romy came over late last night, no warning, no text, not a damn thing indicating anything was wrong. She walked in using her code to the private elevator, looking like the kind of woman a man would start a war over. I crowded her in a matter of seconds. Neither of us spoke a word as she matched my urgency, pulling me into her, desperate, almost feral with how she pulled and tugged at my body.
I should have realized something was wrong, but I’d been too consumed with her to notice, much like I always am when it comes to Romy. I swear I can feel the heat of her skin beneath my hands as I lifted her onto the kitchen counter. I remember the sound her breath catching when shit clattered to the floor. Her fingers dug into my shoulders, attempting to anchor herself to me. I poured everything I had into her, believing it was another normal night where our mutual obsession takes control.
Instead of taking her there on the counter, I picked her up and carried her into my bedroom with her mouth attached to my neck. It wasn’t until I sat on the edge of the very bed I’m in that she started stripping me out of my clothes. I did the same to her: shirt, bra, skirt, and panties.
I took her, fast, hard, raw, and with a desperate intensity I never felt before. My thick length tunneling in and out of her wet center, both of us clinging to one another, my gaze bouncing from her eyes to where we were connected.
That’s why after she came, with my dick still seated deep inside her, and she said, “I’m done, Vik,” my world was knocked off its axis. She looked at me with deep expressive eyes void of emotion that had burned between us only moments earlier and threw my words back at me, “This is part of the ground rules. You knew this day would come. The only difference is, it’s me calling this off.” I swore under my breath, slowly pulled out of her, and grabbed my pants off the ground.
The ground rules:
Discretion is non-negotiable.
No emotional attachments.
Clean break when either is done, no questions asked.
I watched as she put her clothes back on, running my hand through my hair, tugging at the ends, and trying to keep my tightly coiled control in check. It sucked watching Rory get dressed while she remained calm and collected, then walked out the door. It’d been on the tip of my tongue to ask her to stay, I didn’t because I’m a fucking coward. And the only way I got a lick of sleep last night was by downing more vodka than is good for anyone.
There’s no sense in staying in bed all day, so I grab a pair of dark sweatpants from the floor, pull them on, and walk out of the bedroom. My head is pounding, my mouth dry. I need water, coffee, and aspirin as soon as humanly possible. The kitchen is still a mess: papers litter the floor and pens are scattered right along with them. I don’t bother picking them up. I lean my palms against the cool granite, hanging my head between my shoulders, and take a few deep breaths.