𝖶𝖠𝖷 𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖱𝖳

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Nour Delour doesn't chase men. She crafts them. Shapes their desire with oils, honey, blood, and flame. In her Harlem candle boutique, every scent has a spell, every wick a whisper of old Southern rootwork passed down from women who knew how to make love feel like a fever. So when Rajah Thomas--the ex who ghosted her, walks by her shop window with his new girl on his arm, Nour doesn't cry. She gets even. She carves his name into wax, mixes it with her own essence, then lights the candle her grandmother warned her never to use: the 𝗪𝗮𝘅 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁. It doesn't just draw Rajah back--it 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘴 him. And this time, he returns with wet eyes, trembling hands, and a craving he can't explain. He's starving for her aroma, her skin, her darkness. He says her name like a prayer. Cries when she lets him taste her. Tells her he'll never leave again.

But obsession has a cost, and magic always demands balance. As the flame burns lower, Rajah unravels. He starts sleeping outside her door. Sobbing when she doesn't answer. Losing jobs, friends, time. As for Nour? She's not untouched. She's sweating through her sheets. Moaning his name in her sleep. Bleeding from places that shouldn't bleed. The spell has tethered them by more than lust--it's welded their souls into something unnatural, and if she tries to break it, 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩. Still, there's a part of her--the part that wanted this--that isn't ready to let go. Because this love? It's not soft. It's not safe. It's 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗹𝘆.

@GLOSSNEILES ON THE COVER ART.