Meet Scarlett Striker, a bold and quirky journalist for the Seattle Times. She's fun, confident, sassy, and just the right amount of weird. Scarlett is determined to rise to the top, no matter what it takes.
When her boss offers a golden opportunity...
Get ready to dive into the first chapter of Scarlett's wild ride! Buckle up, because this story is packed with all the juicy tropes you crave:
Mafia Romance (Yes, the drama is real!)
Touch Her and Die (Seriously, don't even think about it.)
Billionaire Romance (Because who doesn't love a bit of luxury?)
Trigger Warning: Things get intense with breath play, rough encounters, violence, death, and loss. So, consider yourself warned!Now that the formalities are out of the way, grab a comfy spot, maybe a glass of wine, and enjoy the ride. Happy reading! 📚✨
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I once believed that journalism would be a simpler path. My role is to unearth stories of significance, yet despite advancing from intern to full-time, I remain firmly entrenched at the bottom of the hierarchy.
I'm stationed on the third floor, the place where all the grunts are relegated-a far cry from the bustling hub of creativity and influence that occupies the upper floors. But I have my sights set higher. I dream of the day my byline graces the front page of Seattle's most prestigious newspaper, telling stories that not only inform but captivate the city.
Yet, that ambition feels like a pipe dream after a year of being stuck in this role. I've lost count of how many times I've risked my safety chasing leads that ultimately go nowhere.
The routine is mind-numbing: write a piece, submit it to my boss, and cross my fingers that she'll give it the green light. If I'm lucky, it gets a tiny spot on the last page, a place where no one but the most dedicated readers venture. Most of my work doesn't even make it online. In fact, much of what I submit never sees the light of day at all.
Sometimes, I wonder if leaving New York for this job that barely scrapes together fifty thousand a year was a mistake. Seattle's cost of living is no joke. My apartment alone sucks up $2,000 a month, leaving me to survive on whatever's left. The grind of living paycheck to paycheck is wearing me down faster than I'd like to admit.
New York was my home. I was born and raised there, and for a long time, I thought I'd never leave. But the city's relentless pace eventually became suffocating, like I was drowning in a sea of ambition that wasn't even mine. I felt like a stranger in my own life. So, two years ago, I decided it was time for a change. Seattle seemed like the perfect place to start fresh, to find a rhythm that was more my own.
I don't regret my decision to move to Seattle. It's a stunning city, and I fell in love with it the moment I arrived.
Landing a job at Seattle Times Magazine-or ST as we call it-felt like the start of something big. I'm only twenty-four, but I can't shake the feeling that I should be advancing faster. Restlessness has always been part of my DNA, a constant nagging sensation that I'm meant for more, and that I need to get there fast.
