But Kellan wasn’t listening. His body moved with primal urgency, like a predator savoring its rare catch.
Moments ago, they had weapons at each other’s vitals, yet now, they were tangled in a dangerous rhythm, one fueled by something far more consuming than hatred.
“Don’t move!”
His voice, rough and low, filled the air. His labored breaths came in short bursts, and that single command had enough intensity to make anyone’s blood run hot. But Allison wasn’t anyone. Orders never sat well with her. In one swift motion, she tightened her grip around his neck, pushing her other hand firmly against his shoulder, flipping their positions.
She wasn’t the kind to let anyone think they had control. Kellan hit the table with a solid thud, a grunt escaping his lips as his eyes opened. The coldness in his gaze had melted into something hazier-confusion.
Allison, now straddling him, brushed the loose strands of hair from her flushed face, her expression set with the kind of confidence that left no room for doubt. Her chest heaved with the exertion of the moment, but her always unyielding eyes remained locked on his.
“I’ll be in charge!”
Her fingers danced from his throat down the length of his torso, tracing the chiseled muscles beneath her fingertips, each one hard and defined like marble.
Kellan’s face was partially obscured by the shadows, but his body was a sculptor’s dream-lean, powerful, a perfect V-shaped masterpiece!
They were both using each other, but at this moment, it didn’t feel like a loss.
She leaned in and kissed him again, her hands moving methodically to unbutton his shirt. Frustration building, she gave up on patience and tore the fabric open, her palms pressed flat against the warmth of his chest.
Kellan, always the one to take control, had never experienced someone reversing the tide like this. Yet, instead of fighting it, he let it happen. Still, his hands gripped her waist as if he could somehow make her a part of him.
Her silhouette was carved against the dim light like an artist’s muse, every movement bringing them closer to chaos with every second.
Allison bowed her head, trailing a string of delicate kisses from his neck up to his cheek, before finally resting her lips on those deep, magnetic eyes.
The rest of the night blurred into fragments in her mind. All she could recall was the sensation of being swept up in a violent storm, tossed about on crashing waves. At one point, she snapped back to reality for a fleeting second, and the only thing she could focus on was the starlight dancing in his eyes.
“What are you doing?” she heard herself ask.
“The drug hasn’t worn off yet.”
“Are you serious? What are you, some kind of animal? And stop biting me… not there, you idiot!”
The night raged on in a swirl of desire and passion.
When Allison finally woke up, she became sharply aware of something hard digging into her side. Groggily, she reached over, fingers curling around the cool, silver metal of a handgun.
It lay just inches from the dagger that had once been at her waist-danger had been their silent witness throughout the night.
She forced herself to sit up, her eyes drifting to the intricate designs on the ceiling, trying to center herself. For a moment, her thoughts spun like a broken record, unable to latch onto anything solid.
The dim room, barely illuminated by thin rays of daylight sneaking through the heavy curtains, seemed like a battlefield. The man beside her was still lost in sleep, his smooth, muscular back rising and falling with steady breaths.
Allison’s head was foggy, and her body was sore. Standing up, she sunk her toes into the plush carpet, steadying herself against the back of the sofa. Her legs were weak, trembling with the aftermath of what could only be described as a war between their bodies.
Chaos lay everywhere. A shattered vase, petals scattered across the floor, chairs knocked over in the frenzy, and discarded condoms abandoned near the bed. The trail of chaos from the floor to the windowsill marked the wild escapades of the night before. She blinked, the reality settling in like a cold splash of water. It hadn’t been a fevered dream-everything had been real.
She muttered to herself, “He’s an absolute savage!” She didn’t need a mirror to see the evidence. Bruises, love bites, and teeth marks speckled her waist in angry purples and reds, painting a picture of last night’s ferocity. Even her thighs were a mess of violent colors.
“Where on earth did he come from?” she mused aloud, her mind toying with the absurd thought of smothering him with a pillow-just to see if she could get away with it.
The man, still deep under the influence of the drug, lay unconscious with his face buried in the pillow. His back bore red scratches from her nails, a testament to their night together.
Allison poured herself a glass of water, the coolness restoring her clarity as she contemplated what to do with him.
This man wasn’t just skilled; he was a master of his craft. His reflexes were razor-sharp, quick as a cat, and honed to perfection. It was obvious he’d been trained from the cradle-just like she had.
Reflexes like his weren’t just taught in a classroom or dojo; they were forged in the fires of life-or-death encounters-battles that tested your mettle and carved the survivor into something far more dangerous.
He was the kind of man who wouldn’t just fight until the bitter end; he’d drag you into the abyss with him. That sort of ruthlessness ran deep, like a stain that couldn’t be scrubbed out. You could see it in his eyes-he’d take his chances, even when the odds were stacked sky-high against him. The best way to deal with a man like that? Simple: avoid lighting the fuse. No sense in inviting more trouble than you can handle.
As these thoughts tumbled in her head, Allison’s phone buzzed like a swarm of angry bees. She ignored it at first, but it didn’t stop. Finally, she swiped the screen, and a flood of missed calls filled her notifications.
It was already 8:30.
She was supposed to meet Colton for the divorce!
Glancing down at herself, Allison let out a long, tired sigh. Her clothes were a wreck-buttons missing, fabric torn, like she’d been tossed around in a hurricane. If she walked out like this, people would think she’d just crawled out of a back-alley brawl. She rummaged through the closet, pulling on a clean shirt as quickly as possible. While dressing, she shot off a quick message to her friend.
“I’m fine, don’t worry. I’ll fill you in later.”
Before heading out, Allison paused at the edge of the bed, her eyes narrowing as they fell on the nightstand. She grabbed a sheet of paper and some cash, leaving it beneath the gun lying there.
“Your performance was dreadful. Consider this your tip after a deduction.”
It wasn’t just the shredded clothes-he’d left her to pick up the pieces of a night she’d rather forget. Generous? Maybe. But that didn’t mean she had to be a fool.
As she headed out the door, Allison fixed her shirt and smoothed her hair, dialing the cruise manager with one hand. “Make sure all traces of my presence are wiped. Scrub the surveillance, too.”
“Understood, ma’am. We’ll take care of it,” came the respectful reply.
She sped to the courthouse like a bat out of hell, but by the time she screeched to a halt, she was already a good half-hour late.
Oddly enough, the sadness she had expected to feel on this day never came. After three long years of false hopes, it seemed the well had finally run dry. All that was left was a quiet emptiness-a hollow space where feelings used to be.
Colton stood outside, leaning against his car like a statue, glancing at his watch every few seconds. Melany was wrapped around his arm, whispering something into his ear, her eyes gleaming with doe-like adoration.
“Colton, don’t go against your grandfather’s wishes for me… Oh, there she is.”
The moment Colton saw Allison, his expression hardened like stone, his brow furrowing into an angry crease.
“If you’re thinking of dragging your feet or backing out at the last minute, don’t bother. I’ve made up my mind to marry Melany. Save yourself the trouble of playing games.” His voice was filled with impatience, as if he could already see through what he thought was her last-ditch ploy. “I told you yesterday,” he added, his tone cold, “not even tears will change my decision.”
Allison stepped out of her car just in time to catch his words. Her stomach churned from the lack of breakfast, but it wasn’t just hunger making her nauseous. She’d always known Colton was cold, but this… this was something else entirely. She looked him dead in the eye.
“I have no regrets. Not then, and certainly not now.”
The truth was, Allison had known for years that the man standing in front of her wasn’t the same boy who had once promised her the world. But she had clung to the hope-however foolishly-that maybe-just maybe-he would remember the past, that the boy he used to be would resurface.
But now, with the final curtain ready to fall, she could see it. Colton wasn’t just different; he was a stranger-someone she barely recognized, someone she no longer even liked.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.