Die for You
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Hi, guys!
This is a converted story. The freenbecky pic in the cover inspired me to rewrite this amazing story. All credits go to the author, esdiferente.
If you don't like converted stories, please don't read it. But if you do, please enjoy! :)
Oh, I changed the title and the cover photo from the first one I posted 'cause I think it suits the story better.
Anyway, let's start.
Former British Army sergeant Freen Sarocha has been given the responsibility to safeguard the life of Rebecca Armstrong, an attractive, self-sufficient arms trader who is constantly in danger due to the risky nature of her profession.
Freen's main priority is to stay by her side in order to ensure her safety, however, this proximity may also ignite the simmering attraction between them, potentially leading to a fiery outburst of passion at any given moment.
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Freen Sarocha Chakminha didn't believe in love anymore. Not the kind that stayed. Not the kind that healed. She believed in control, in silence, in the armor she'd built from betrayal and ambition. Love was a transaction. Touch was temporary. And people-people always wanted something. Until the girl showed up at her door. Rain-soaked, trembling, eyes wide with heartbreak and hope. Rebecca Armstrong. Pregnant. Homeless. Carrying the child of Freen's brother-the same brother who vanished with her money and left chaos in his wake. Freen should have turned her away. She almost did. But something in Becky's voice-raw, unfiltered, painfully honest-cut through the walls Freen had spent years fortifying. She let her in. Not just into her house. Into her life. Into the quiet spaces she never let anyone see. And slowly, without permission, Becky began to unravel her. Not with grand gestures. But with soup and silence. With late-night study sessions and soft laughter. With the kind of love that didn't demand-but stayed. This isn't a story about perfect people. It's a story about broken ones who chose each other anyway. About fire inherited not from blood, but from survival. And how sometimes, the coldest hearts burn the brightest-when someone finally sees them.
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