One of the most powerful man in the world. He was called Octavius. Cruel, coldblooded, and completely unobtainable. The Devil in a Brioni suit. The mere whisper of his name was like lethal poison that burned through the hearts of millions. Penetrating, and clear amber eyes that made grown men weep, and women burned with seduction. Behind the curtains, no one knew what he looked like yet he was always in control. It was a reputation he had fought to establish, one that brought him power, wealth and just about... everything. When a series of unfortunate events lands her into the very strong, powerful arms of Octavius, it was everything she'd been warned about. The beautiful brute, Octavius, moody and controlling in every aspect. She had never met a man as brutal, and stormy as him, someone she couldn't help but sprout wild, random phrases to, and offer hugs. A man that always gets what and who he wants because that's how his life works. Until it doesn't. Until he stumbles into a five-feet angel with the sweetest smile, and adamant about being friends. - preview - "Has any man ever made you so crazy you thought you'd die if you didn't get his cock inside of you? If you couldn't feel his fingers digging into your thighs as he spread you open and devoured you whole? Have you ever come over and over, so hard and so many times you couldn't be sure where one ended and the other began?" His strong, veined hands gripped the backside of my bare thigh, tracing over my skin, itching higher and higher and I could feel a deep ache building inside my lower region. My mouth slacked, at a loss for words, all I could do was whimper softly under his possessive touches. "Answer me." Big, forceful hands caressed my chin, almost gripping my neck, only retracting as I let out a tiny breathless sigh. His dark deep amber eyes were on fire with a carnal sexuality that I had never seen before. "Use your words."

A little girl in a pink, cloud-soft frock once wandered into a world that should have warned her away. She found them at the edge of a dying playground. Two identical boys, caked in mud, standing too still for children their age. Their eyes followed her long before she spoke. "Why are you both sad?" she asked, her voice light and untouched by caution. They smiled. "Because we are dirty," one said. "And no one wants to play with us," the other added. It should have been a simple answer. It wasn't. She frowned, as if the world had made a small, correctable mistake, and took their hands without hesitation. That was the first choice. The smallest one. The one that mattered most. By the time they reached the park, the air felt different. It was quiet and heavier than anything, as though something unseen had drawn closer just to listen. "Let's play," she said brightly, tossing a ball into the space between them. But there were only three of them. And she refused to leave either side. So she ran back and forth, laughter breaking into breathless gasps, small shoes scuffing against the dirt as she tried to belong everywhere at once. With him. With him. Never choosing. Never stopping. Until the boys stopped smiling. Until they simply watched. "You'll get tired," one of them said softly. "You can't play both sides forever," the other murmured. But she only grinned, flushed and stubborn, her voice trembling with a promise she did not understand. "I can. And I will play with both of you." That was the second choice. Years later, when the bodies began to surface, when whispers of manipulation, obsession, and something far darker crept into every room she entered, no one thought to trace it back to a sunlit afternoon and a game that never really ended. But some games don't stop. They wait. And the most dangerous players are the ones who were never taught to choose.