365 Nights, Two Stepbrothers, One Me.
I moaned out his name. "Damien, you are not trying hard to get me, yet .."
He smirked and whispered to my ears. "I like being hard, Not "trying" hard."
When Lila Sinclair's mother is sentenced to life in prison, her world collapses overnight. With nowhere else to go, she is taken in by Sebastian Blackwood, her mother's former lover. A powerful, reserved man who agrees to shelter her under strict conditions.
Lila is placed in his household... and into a life she never asked for, sharing a roof with two stepbrothers who change everything.
Damien is danger wrapped in charm...intense, controlling, and impossible to ignore. Ethan, on the other hand, is steady, kind, and grounding...the only place she feels safe when everything else feels like it's slipping away.
But Lila's situation comes with a hidden clause: her stay in the country is temporary. Within 365 days, her legal protection expires. To remain, she must marry one of the Blackwood heirs.
One house. Two brothers. Twelve months of blurred lines, buried secrets, and emotions she was never meant to feel.
As desire clashes with safety and passion wars with peace, Lila is forced into a choice that could secure her future...or destroy it completely.
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Chapter 7
Damien's POV
"Is everything okay, miss?" I asked, though the words didn't come out kind, they came out sharp, annoyed, like I had already wasted too much time watching her fumble with herself.
The girl... Lila...sat there on the damn chair, struggling with a pair of heels as if it was rocket science. A pair of heels. Jesus Christ.
I adjusted the cuffs of my suit jacket, car keys clinking in my hand. I should've been out the door ten minutes ago, but here she was... fussing with straps, biting her lip, pouting like some helpless thing that expected a knight in shining armor to swoop in and fix her shoe.
I leaned against the frame of the door, crossing my arms. "You plan on carrying those on your hand the whole night?"
She looked up at me, her lips curved in that pout again, and to be honest, it made my stomach twist. Not because it was cute. Because it was pathetic. "I can't wear them," she murmured, almost like she wanted pity.
I arched a brow, letting my eyes deliberately drag down her figure and back up. She was dressed like she thought she was walking into a royal ball, not a Blackwood 'tea party.' Too much skin, too much effort, too much of everything. She didn't fit. Not here, not in this house, and not in those shoes.
"You can't wear shoes?" I scoffed, shaking my head. "What does that even mean? You're seriously expecting me to bend down and lace them for you? No thanks. Walk barefoot if you must. It might suit the stray-dog vibe you've got going."
Her lips parted. She sucked in a sharp breath like I had slapped her with words, but she didn't argue. She dropped back onto the chair and started fumbling again, fingers tangling with the straps, her face flushed in frustration.
I almost walked out. I should have walked out.
But something in the way she muttered under her breath, some curse words about me, I'm sure....made me pause. And then she pulled her phone out, of all things, and began googling how to tie heels.
I stared. For a second, I didn't even feel disgust. I almost... laughed.
This was who Dad thought was fit to bring into our family? A local girl who needed YouTube tutorials for footwear? Not as a maid, no! as a sister.
Ridiculous.
I sighed, walked back over, and without a word grabbed her ankle. She yelped softly, her eyes wide as I pulled her leg up closer and crouched down. The strap was a mess. Of course it was.
"This is embarrassing," I muttered, more to myself than her.
Just as I tugged at the lace, the shoe jerked, and her entire body pitched forward. One second she was perched on the chair, the next she was sprawled half over me, palms braced against my chest.
Her scent hit me first. Rosé. Not cheap perfume, but something delicate, lingering. Then her eyes.... big, green, too damn earnest for someone I had already decided I hated. They sparkled, and for a split second, I wondered if they were even real.
And just like that, I hated myself for noticing.
I clenched my jaw, finished the damn shoe with a rough tug, and stood. "You always do this as a hobby? Falling on people? Or is it just me you save the clumsiness for?"
Her cheeks flushed. "I....I didn't mean to...."
"Don't," I cut her off, raising a hand. "It's giving 'pick me' energy, and honestly? You're too pretty for that. So stop."
She blinked at me, lips parted. For a moment, she didn't even look embarrassed anymore, she looked... stunned.
I grabbed my keys, shook my head, and walked out.
***
She followed, of course. I heard the soft tap of her heels behind me, too light, too uneven. I didn't have to look back to know she was struggling to walk in them.
By the time I reached my car, she was still a few paces behind, holding onto the wall like a toddler learning to walk.
I couldn't help it. A laugh escaped me, low and bitter.
"You can't even walk in medium heels?" I opened the door, slid inside, and revved the engine. She was still outside, just staring at the car like it was some alien spaceship.
I leaned on the horn. She flinched. Then she muttered something I couldn't hear... her lips moving furiously.
I got out again, exhaling like I was about to lose my patience. "Why the hell are you still standing there? What are you complaining about now?"
She crossed her arms. "I... I can't open it."
My brows lifted. "You can't open a car door?"
She tilted her head, lips pressed into a pout that looked almost intentional. "Ethan always opens it for me."
I barked out a laugh, bitter and disbelieving. "Of course he does."
I slid back inside, hit the button, and let the car door swing open automatically. Her eyes widened, and then she laughed...a bubbly, childish sound that didn't fit her supposed age at all.
I gripped the steering wheel harder. She slid into the seat, brushing down her dress, and for a moment, the car smelled like her perfume again.
***
"Why didn't Ethan show up?" she asked softly after a stretch of silence.
"Ask him," I muttered, eyes fixed on the road.
She shifted, her voice dipping even lower. "Sorry... for stressing you."
I didn't answer. Instead, I pressed harder on the accelerator, the hum of the engine filling the quiet.
"Tell me the location," I said flatly.
She blinked. "The location?"
"Yes. Where is this party?"
Her mouth opened, closed. "Um..."
I slammed the brakes. The tires screeched. She gasped, clutching her seatbelt.
"You don't even know where you're going?" My voice was sharper now, edged with disbelief.
She fumbled with her hands. "Ethan said it's a tea party..."
I stared at her. Then I laughed. A low, dangerous laugh.
"You dressed like a Barbie doll for a tea party?"
Her brows furrowed. "It... it fits the name."
I shook my head. "Tea party is sarcasm, bruh... It means a party filled with alcohol, drugs, chaos. Not Earl Grey and cupcakes."
Her face flushed red. "I didn't know...."
"Clearly." I rolled my eyes. "And you think Ethan's some innocent choir boy? He's the life of every reckless thing you can imagine."
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She just looked down, biting her lip.
Minutes later, I pulled into a street...only to curse under my breath. "Fuck. Fuck."
She lifted her head, alarmed. "What's wrong?"
"The police invaded. Party's over."
She sighed like the disappointment was hers to bear.
I swung the car into reverse, then pulled over to the side of the road.
"So?" she asked softly.
"So you're hopping out," I said.
Her head snapped toward me. "What?"
"You heard me." I put the gear in park. "Out. I've got somewhere else to be."
She sat there frozen. "But...how? Where do I go?"
I nodded toward the dim street ahead. "Straight. Then follow the painted region. You'll figure it out."
Her lips parted in disbelief, but she didn't argue. She stepped out, heels dangling from her fingers again.
I didn't wait. I didn't want to see the look on her face. I pressed down on the accelerator, leaving her standing there.
But the mirror betrayed me.
I saw her....small, fragile, shivering slightly under the streetlight. Heels in her hand, shoulders tight. Alone.
For a second, the memory of her first night in this house flickered.... the defiance, the way she stood in front of me even when I cut her down. And now? She looked... breakable.
"Fuck," I muttered.
Before I knew it, I was circling back. The car screeched as I pulled up beside her.
I lowered the window. "Get in."
She blinked at me, almost stunned. Then, slowly, she climbed back in, sinking into the seat.
"You... came back," she whispered.
"Don't flatter yourself." I kept my eyes on the road, jaw tight. "I can't go home now."
She looked at me cautiously. "Then... where are we going?"
I smirked, but it didn't reach my eyes. "Buckle up. We're going to my kind of party."
She swallowed hard, her hands fumbling with the seatbelt. And in that quiet moment, I saw it.... the flicker of fear. The way her pulse ticked at her neck. Social anxiety, written all over her.
And I thought to myself: good. Let her tremble. Let her break.
Because no matter how green her eyes shone or how sweet she smelled, she was still the daughter of a murderer, and I'd make sure she never got comfortable in my world.
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9.7
Eliana Rivera is the firstborn daughter of business tycoon Cassian Rivera. When her father's company falls into debt, he marries her off to the arrogant and ruthless billionaire, Alexander Grayson, as part of a business contract and under the threat of blackmail.
Alexander, the billionaire CEO, never planned to marry, but the pressure of blackmail forces him into a union with a woman he barely knows. Although Eliana doesn't see Alexander as her ideal partner, she agrees to the marriage out of a sense of duty.
Once engaged, however, he barely acknowledges her presence and harbours disdain for her because of her father's actions and their relationship. But as they navigate their newfound relationship, the unexpected desire for each other's touch ignites-a twist neither of them planned, leading them toward an unforeseen love.
8.2
At my ten-week ultrasound, I was supposed to be celebrating the future of the Falcone family. I was Isabella Falcone, wife to the most powerful Don in the south.
But when the nurse called my name, the man who stood up beside his pregnant mistress was my husband.
In the sterile silence of that waiting room, he chose her. He later confessed he was being blackmailed by her family-a weakness that was a death sentence in our world. That night, he moved his mistress into our home, into my bedroom, and locked me away like a prisoner in the staff quarters. He wasn't imprisoning his wife; he was guarding an asset. He needed the legitimate heir I carried to save his crumbling empire.
His betrayal was absolute when his own mother and my adoptive parents arrived while he was away. They forced me to sign divorce papers, then told me they were taking me to a clinic. His mother pulled out a gun and pointed not at my head, but at my stomach.
"We're terminating this complication," she said coldly.
As they dragged me from the house, my world went dark. But through the haze, I saw a fleet of black cars blocking the gate. An army of men poured out, led by a face I had only ever seen in a photograph. Days earlier, locked in my room, I made a single phone call to the only man more powerful than my husband: my biological father, the head of the Chicago Outfit. And he had come to collect his daughter.
8.5
Alexandrea woke up with a splitting headache in a strange hotel bed, terrified to find a brutally handsome, half-naked stranger beside her.
Before she could even scream, the door burst open. Her adoptive mother, Ivette, stormed in with a swarm of reporters and flashing cameras.
"How could you disgrace our family name like this?"
Ivette sobbed, putting on a theatrical performance of a heartbroken mother. It was a setup to completely ruin Alexandrea's reputation in front of New York's elite.
For ten years, Alexandrea had lived in a house of horrors. Her back and arms were covered in silvery scars and puckered cigarette burns left by Ivette's vicious abuse.
Yet to the public, Ivette had carefully crafted Alexandrea's image as a wild, ungrateful, and manipulative liar.
Trapped under the duvet, Alexandrea was drowning in shame, her voice lost in the storm of accusations.
She didn't understand why her adoptive family hated her so much, treating her worse than a stray dog while using her brother's future to keep her chained.
But what she understood even less was the stranger beside her.
Instead of panicking, the man slowly sat up, his presence alone silencing the frantic room. He was Ace Griffith, the billionaire heir who owned half of Manhattan.
He wrapped his suit jacket around her trembling shoulders, looked Ivette dead in the eye, and dropped a bomb.
"I will be marrying her."
Then, he carried Alexandrea away from her ten-year prison, ordering his men to dig up the Terry family's darkest secrets and her true identity.
7.5
I was the supreme architect of reality. Now I'm trapped in a womb with my twin brother Jaden, and he's already trying to kill me.
Born with a Void Lord core, Jaden is a gluttonous black hole that started draining my life force before I even had eyelids. Unfortunately for him, my ancient soul came with me. I crushed his consciousness, chained his dark power, and established the only rule that matters: Sister is God.
Three years later, he's a whimpering, chocolate-donut-obsessed mess who cries when I threaten to cancel snack time. I've got a demonic shadow bird enforcing my orders and a mother who has no idea her adorable daughter is secretly terrifying.
But when assassins hunting my family corner us in the forest, I have to stop playing cute. They see a toddler in pink overalls. I show them what an architect of reality looks like.
My twin is a Void Lord destined to consume worlds. He still flinches when I raise an eyebrow. Some hierarchies are eternal.
8.8
Bella Danvers aka Isabella Powell is a 20-year-old college student who encountered the hot and ruthless CEO of the Rinaldi Corporation, Gabriel Rinaldi. They had a forgetful one-night stand that took a turn for the worst. Will he be able to find her before he is forced into an arranged marriage? Will she be able to tell him the news? Or will they be forced apart?
7.4
Our Affairs
7.4
For three long years, my husband Richard has refused to touch me. All because of one tragic accident that stole our three-month-old baby... an accident that wasn't even my fault.
I tried everything to win him back. I begged, I cried, I seduced. Nothing worked.
Desperate and burning with unmet desire, I found myself drawn to my new boss, Teddy. With one smoldering look, he awakens the fire I thought had died inside me. I crave him. I need him. But I'm still married... and I still love Richard with all my heart.
Then came the business trip that shattered everything.
In a single night, I discovered Richard's secret-he's been cheating on me all along.
Rage and years of pent-up hunger collided. That night, I finally unleashed.
But after the trip what becomes of me, my husband and my boss, even his lover.