Stacks & Secrets
- Reads 122
- Votes 16
- Parts 7
MatureOngoing1h 5m
Last published Mon, May 5, 2025
Dior didn't wake up to an alarm clock-she hadn't in years. The scent of fresh roses from her windowsill garden, mixed with the ever-present aroma of Rahmik's cologne lingering in the sheets, was enough to stir her awake. Sunlight spilled through the high windows of the master suite like golden syrup, kissing the marble floors of their five-bedroom Buckhead mansion.
To anyone on the outside, she was living the dream. No nine-to-five. No boss breathing down her neck. No bills she couldn't pay. Just Dior in silk robes, coffee in Versace mugs, and a man who gave her everything-at least that's what it looked like.
Rahmik had been her man since she was eighteen. They'd built together, even if "built" was more like her holding him down while he ran the streets and flipped bricks into empires. His name rang bells in the city, whispered in barbershops and blared through late-night rap lyrics. He was the kind of rich that made other dealers nervous, with a fleet of foreign cars and a phone that never stopped ringing.
But Dior wasn't just his pretty little secret or some hood trophy. She was smart. Real smart. Quiet, calculating. While she played her part as the stay-at-home girlfriend-cooking, cleaning, smiling at his boys when they came through-she was stacking money on the side. Silent accounts, crypto wallets, shoeboxes hidden in false walls. Just in case.
Because love didn't mean blind baby.
Still, Rahmik had a hold on her. That dangerous kind of love that felt like a drug in itself. And even though she hadn't seen the red flags in full color yet, they were there. Lurking. Creeping. Waiting to tear down everything she thought was real.
She didn't know that while she was picking out his favorite silk ties and planning their trip to Tulum, he was tangled in sheets that weren't hers. Wrapped up in lies he wore better than any designer suit.
The game was about to change.
And Dior? She was about to find out just how deep betrayal could cut.
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It should've ended with distance. A silence. A closed door. But instead, it began here-pressed against a balcony wall, with her breath caught between fear and temptation, and his eyes burning with something far more dangerous than lust. He didn't touch her. Not yet. But the threat of it lingered in the space between their bodies, in the way his chest nearly brushed hers every time he exhaled. She could feel the tension rippling off him, barely contained-like a storm pacing behind his ribcage, just waiting to destroy. "You shouldn't be here," he said, voice rough, low, and shaking with restraint. But he was the one who had cornered her. He was the one who couldn't stay away. And she? She hated how much she didn't want to run. Because this-whatever this was-felt like standing on the edge of something irreversible. "You're my employee," he snapped. As if the label could cage what was already unravelling inside him. "You're a mistake I keep choosing." Her eyes met his-furious, pained, exposed. "I never asked you to," she said, but her voice cracked around the lie. His hand lifted slowly, brushing the side of her jaw with a touch that contradicted everything his words said. Possessive. Tender. He stared at her like she was the very thing he was never meant to want-and the only thing he couldn't stop needing. "I've spent years building walls to stay in control," he muttered, his thumb grazing her lower lip. "You walk in and wreck all of it... without even trying." She swallowed hard. This wasn't love. This wasn't even hate. This was obsession-raw, electric, and utterly doomed. And as his lips hovered over hers, trembling with the weight of a thousand wrong intentions, they both knew- 🥀It started with a look. It spiraled with a touch. And before they could stop it, they were already each other's greatest undoing.
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"Having sex won't make me less mad at you," I reprimanded, knowing it didn't matter what I said because I wanted nothing more than for him to make love to me. I wanted to feel his hands in my hair, against my arms and legs, down my hips, the inside of my thighs, gently around my throat, toying with my lips. I needed him to understand and see every inch of my body and then to still crave it. I needed this to go right for once, just to prove to myself the first time wasn't how it's always going to be. "True," He murmured against my ear, sucking a tender spot on my neck, lapping at it as my arms circled his head, pulling at the brunette strands of hair. "But it'll make you appreciate me more." __________________________________ 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 was raised from the ground up knowing nothing but comparison and perfection. She compared herself to her successful parents, supermodel sister, and glamorous friends. Instead of love, she harbored a raging jealousy for nearly everyone in her life. It was a blinding emotion she learned to cope with by controlling whatever else she could, whether it was how much she spent in a day or how much she ate. 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 wouldn't know jealously if it ran him over with a semi-truck. What was there for him to be jealous of anyway? If he didn't have something, he could get it. If he didn't like something, it could be changed. How could he be jealous when he was the blueprint of what a man should be? In the eyes of the public, at least. Both with egos and problems towering upwards to the Heavens, Simone and Nicolas cross paths in the worst way possible for egomaniacs. An auction. {MAJOR TW !!! WARNING⚠️ contains eating disorders} - This story is a recovery with romance, not a romance with recovery. I'll be focusing MAJORLY on Simone's character development and healing. #1 in thatgirl (period) • 01/7/24 ©kujiis 2023 All rights reserv
It should've ended with distance. A silence. A closed door. But instead, it began here-pressed against a balcony wall, with her breath caught between fear and temptation, and his eyes burning with something far more dangerous than lust. He didn't touch her. Not yet. But the threat of it lingered in the space between their bodies, in the way his chest nearly brushed hers every time he exhaled. She could feel the tension rippling off him, barely contained-like a storm pacing behind his ribcage, just waiting to destroy. "You shouldn't be here," he said, voice rough, low, and shaking with restraint. But he was the one who had cornered her. He was the one who couldn't stay away. And she? She hated how much she didn't want to run. Because this-whatever this was-felt like standing on the edge of something irreversible. "You're my employee," he snapped. As if the label could cage what was already unravelling inside him. "You're a mistake I keep choosing." Her eyes met his-furious, pained, exposed. "I never asked you to," she said, but her voice cracked around the lie. His hand lifted slowly, brushing the side of her jaw with a touch that contradicted everything his words said. Possessive. Tender. He stared at her like she was the very thing he was never meant to want-and the only thing he couldn't stop needing. "I've spent years building walls to stay in control," he muttered, his thumb grazing her lower lip. "You walk in and wreck all of it... without even trying." She swallowed hard. This wasn't love. This wasn't even hate. This was obsession-raw, electric, and utterly doomed. And as his lips hovered over hers, trembling with the weight of a thousand wrong intentions, they both knew- 🥀It started with a look. It spiraled with a touch. And before they could stop it, they were already each other's greatest undoing.
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