‼️Warning: This chapter contains intense adult themes and explicit content.
I didn't think—
My body just moved.
The moment Kieran stepped back, telling his men to "dump the body in the river," my knees nearly gave out. My stomach twisted, my ears rang. That was my chance.
I slipped from his grip, stumbling down the narrow corridor toward his office. My lungs burned. My heart hammered like a war drum. I didn't care where I went. I didn't care if the mansion had no exits. I just needed distance—needed to escape the scent of blood clinging to him.
I burst into his office, breath ragged, and reached for the door.
Freedom—
No.
A shadow fell over my hand.
Kieran was there.
Blocking the door. Calm. Unshaken. Like he'd simply waited for me.
My eyes widened.
"H-How… how did you get here?" I whispered.
He tilted his head, that dark, knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
"Wrong question, princess. You should be asking why you thought you could run."
I stepped back. He mirrored me. Every move measured, deliberate.
Every step I took, he closed the distance. Every breath I stole, he drew nearer.
Panic lanced my spine. My back hit the edge of the desk. My hands pressed against the polished wood—no shield. I was trapped.
Kieran planted both hands on the desk behind me, caging me with heat and presence.
"You're still trying to understand what kind of monster I am. I promise—I'll show you. You can run all you want," he said, low, deliberate. "But I'll always catch you."
His gaze pierced mine.
"And when I catch you," he added, smirk darkening, "you won't like what happens next."
I wanted to scream. To shove him away. To disappear.
But my body… my traitorous body…
stayed frozen against the desk.
His eyes slid to the strap slipping off my shoulder, to the sheen of sweat on my skin, to the way my chest heaved beneath him.
He noticed everything. He always did.
His hand swept across the desk in one smooth, violent motion—
Crash.
Files, pens, folders scattered to the floor.
I flinched, heart racing.
Before I could recover, his hand gripped my waist—firm, unyielding, claiming.
"Kieran—" My voice cracked.
"You saw what I am," he murmured, a chill trailing down my spine. "And yet your body tells me you don't want me to stop."
My legs trembled, thighs instinctively tightening.
That was all it took.
His eyes darkened.
He grabbed my waist and lifted me onto the desk like I weighed nothing.
My breath hitched. My dress rode up my thighs. I tried to cover myself, but my hands didn't move fast enough.
"Kieran…" The word fell uselessly.
He stepped between my legs, heat radiating off him—the scent of smoke and danger filling my lungs.
Then—his hardness pressed against me. Close. Heavy.
A soft gasp ripped out of me. My fingers dug into the desk, knuckles white.
I shouldn't want this.
He'd killed. He'd torn me from my son.
I shouldn't want him.
But my body didn't care.
"Kieran… I—please—" I whispered, trembling.
His hand slid from my waist to my throat, tilting my face up to meet his eyes.
"You ran," he murmured—cold, unhurried. "Now sit still."
My strap slipped further down my shoulder. I reached to pull it up—
He caught my wrist. "Leave it."
Heat shot through me. His lips brushed my neck—slow, deliberate, claiming. Warm breath. Cold mouth. A soft hiss escaped my throat.
His hand traveled lower, brushing the curve of my breast over the fabric—just enough pressure to make my pulse stutter.
His other hand steadied my back. His mouth traced my collarbone, then dipped lower, warm air skimming my skin. My nipples hardened beneath the thin fabric. My thighs trembled, heat coiling low inside me.
I bit my lip, trying to smother the sound rising in my chest.
"Kieran…"
He kissed me there—slow, cold, claiming.
His body pressed harder against mine, teasing dangerously close. I froze, another gasp slipping free. My fingers clawed at the desk.
"You're mine," he growled, teeth grazing lightly.
"Mine."
My dress slipped even lower. I grabbed at it, cheeks burning.
Kieran's smirk deepened—dark, satisfied.
"As if I haven't already claimed you."
Even as I trembled beneath him, part of me burned—aching, wanting more.
⸻
Somewhere else in the mansion—far from the storm Kieran had ignited—Kendella walked into Elias D'Angelo's office with a file in her hand, the very file she'd been waiting to drop for days. A guard opened the door for her, and she stepped inside like she belonged there.
Elias looked up from his desk. Contessa sat at the side with a cup of tea, boredom dripping from her posture.
Kendella placed the file on the desk.
Elias frowned. "What's this?"
"It's about your son's wife," she said, sweet as poison.
Elias's brow creased. "Which wife?"
Kendella smiled—the kind of smile people wear when they know they're about to win.
"Aurielle Duval. Kieran's wife. You should see this."
He opened it.
First page: Aurielle his son's assistant in stripper heels.
Second page: club financial records with her name.
Third page: a printed screenshot calling her a gold-digger.
Fourth page: a hospital form listing Adrien as her illegitimate child.
Elias paused.
His brows drew together.
He looked up, voice cold.
"Where did you get this?"
Contessa sipped her tea lazily, barely reacting.
Kendella stepped closer, voice honeyed and venomous.
"Uncle… I thought you should know. Your son got married. Behind your back."
Elias froze.
Married? Behind his back?
Kendella continued, enjoying herself far too much:
"And not just to anyone… to her. A stripper. A whore. A single mother."
Contessa choked on her tea.
She coughed, glaring as she wiped her mouth.
"A whore?" she repeated, eyebrows raised.
"So she's not only a single mother but also a whore? Pathetic."
Elias turned sharply toward Contessa, confusion slicing across his expression.
"You knew about this?"
Contessa set down her cup slowly, chin lifted.
"Oh please, don't act surprised. I told you already—Kieran is reckless. He never cares about this family. He married a nobody. A disgrace. Behind our backs. And for what? Some childish contract marriage?"
Elias's eyes darkened.
But Contessa kept going, because of course she did:
"He didn't just stain the family name—he soiled it. The Don of the D'Angelo mafia marrying a nightclub girl with a bastard child? Is he trying to embarrass us? Ruin the empire?"
She scoffed softly.
"My son would never make such mistakes. He should be the Don. Not Kieran."
Elias slammed his hand on the desk.
"Enough."
Silence dropped instantly.
Contessa's jaw tightened.
Elias stood, breath slow, shoulders tight.
"He married," he said, voice steel. "And no one in this family thought to inform me?"
Kendella spoke quickly, carefully:
"I told you because I care… I didn't want our name dragged through the dirt—"
Elias snapped, "Dragged? It's already dragged. And now the elites will whisper behind my back because my own family handed them ammunition."
"We need a respectable daughter-in-law," Contessa said sharply. "Someone like Kendella."
Kendella blushed and leaned forward.
"This is our chance. Our moment to fix things. To show everyone who the proper match is."
Contessa's fingers tightened around her teacup.
"What do you suggest?"
A small, dangerous smile crossed Kendella's lips.
"We throw a party. Invite the elites. Our partners. Everyone who watches the D'Angelo name. We welcome the new daughter-in-law."
Elias's eyes flicked to the Contessa.
"A welcome party?"
Contessa smirked.
"To show her her place."
Elias exhaled hard… then slowly nodded.
"Fine. A party. Let the world watch."
Kendella's smile sharpened—victory gleaming in her eyes.
This was exactly what she wanted.
Hey loves 💗 don't forget to add this book to your library. Which team are you on? Team Aurielle or team Kendella?