Hot daddy's best friend
"You shouldn't be here, Fiona," his deep voice rasped against her ear, his hand still pressed against the wall behind her.
"Then tell me to leave," she whispered, her lips trembling inches from his. He didn't move. He didn't breathe. And in that moment, she knew he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.
Fiona Harry has lived her whole life in a golden cage of wealth, reputation, and suffocating rules. University was supposed to be her escape, her first taste of freedom. But nothing could prepare her for the moment she came face-to-face with Professor Jalen Hart, her father's best friend. One reckless night changes everything. A drunken mistake turns into an irresistible obsession, pulling her deeper into Jalen's forbidden world. But secrets don't stay hidden forever. Between Jude, her possessive friend who knows too much, Marian, Jalen's wicked wife, and the dangerous power of desire, Fiona is about to risk not only hers and her family's reputation but her entire future.
And what happens when the truth comes out especially to Marian?
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Chapter 6
Fiona's POV
"None of your business, clumsy," I answered curtly.
"Yo, relax, babes. At this point, you might fight me for every little thing," he teased. I rolled my eyes, doing my best to ignore his charming face. He looked much more handsome now that I was actually calm enough to notice him. Paris, on the other hand, was all kitten-eyed over him until I nudged her back to her senses.
"Can I at least sit with you guys?" he asked, but before I could answer, Paris jumped in.
"Sure, please... you can sit beside me," she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. I shot her a quick glance, then looked back at Jude before giving him a slight nod.
"Thanks," he said, slouching into the bench in front of us. "So, care to share where you guys are going? I like fun things too, you know."
"Like I said-"
"Hun, we're heading to a restaurant later this evening to get some real food. I'm sure you agree this isn't food," she cut in.
First, she interrupted me. Now, she was chattering all over Jude. She really needed to do better. I sat back and watched as they both stole the limelight, their laughter filling the air. The girls passing by couldn't take their eyes off Jude either, and though he was engaged in their talk, his eyes stayed on me the entire time.
"Alright, guys. Enough chattering, please. I'm sick already. Where should we meet up later today, and what time?" I snapped, jolting to my feet. My face scrunched in irritation, and for a moment, all eyes were on me-until the bell rang.
"9:30, I think," Paris replied. "That's usually when the security alerts relax their monitoring."
Jude smirked. "Hmm, I've been in this school for a while, and it's never come to my notice that there's a time for security relaxation."
Paris's eyes glinted, and a wide grin curved her lips.
"Well, I guess some information is better off told by a special person," she teased.
I scoffed, rolling my eyes at her ridiculous response before grabbing my bag. "Right, I have to go now. See y'all later."
As I reached the entrance to my hostel, I suddenly caught a glimpse of Jalen and Marian. They were yelling and screeching at each other. I leaned against the wall near my door, quietly listening, but leaned too lightly and lost my balance-landing hard on my ankle.
The loud thud and my wince drew their attention immediately.
"Fiona?" Marian called.
"What are you doing here?" Jalen asked, walking toward me. Marian threw her hands in the air, frustration written all over her face as she watched him approach.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation-haa, ouch," I muttered. He knelt beside me, his soft, warm hands brushing over my ankle. The touch felt so good that I momentarily forgot about the pain. My heart fluttered as I stared at him-his scent, his focus, his nearness. I could almost imagine his lips on mine, his hands exploring my skin with passion.
Then Marian's sharp voice cut through my imagination.
"We'll continue this conversation when we get home, honey. I have to be at a meeting now," she snapped before storming out. The sound of her heels clicked down the hallway, echoing her fury.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked gently.
I nodded, then parted my lips. "Um-not too much. I'll be fine." I tried to get on my feet, but the pain worsened-or maybe I wanted it to, just to keep him close.
"Ouch! Oh my God, it still hurts," I cried softly.
"Okay, okay... let me get you to the school clinic so they can check it," he said, concerned.
"Oh no, no-it's fine," I objected quickly. "I think I just need to rest my leg. It's not that bad. But... I could use your help to get to my room."
He sighed, then nodded. "Alright, let me help you to your room then."
Before I could say anything, he lifted me up effortlessly, holding me close against his chest. I could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and his breath brushed against my hair.
"What number?" he asked.
"+4-369-651-70," I replied dreamily, staring into his eyes.
He blinked, confused. "What? Your room number, Fiona."
"Oh-yes, sorry. 306."
He chuckled softly and nodded, carrying me down the quiet hallway. My gaze stayed fixed on his strong jawline. I leaned my head against his chest, savoring the warmth of the moment-it almost felt like we were newlyweds, and he was carrying me to our bridal suite. I didn't want him to let go.
At last, we reached my room. I opened the door, relieved that Kelly wasn't around. The room was dim, lit only by a sliver of moonlight seeping through the curtains, and that faint glow instantly set the mood.
He gently lowered me onto the bed.
"You should rest well so you can attend classes tomorrow," he said softly. "By the way, how was your first day in class?"
"Not bad," I replied, my face brightening like a child's. "Even though I was late-but considering what you taught, it was quite fun."
He raised a brow. "Hmm. What was fun about my class? Because I know you were busy chatting with your seatmate the whole time."
That was exactly what I wanted-his teasing, his attention. I smiled.
"I'd rather not say what made it fun for me right now," I said coyly. "But I must compliment you... you looked way more handsome today than the last time you came to my house."
He went silent. His stare deepened, and I could feel the air between us thicken.
"Thank you," he murmured after a while. "I should go."
"Please, stay-just a bit longer," I whispered. "I'm scared. I can't stay alone in the dark."
"This is against the school rules, Fiona. I can't be seen here," he replied firmly.
"Fine," I sighed. "Then can you at least read me a bedtime story so I can fall asleep-and then you can leave? Please?"
He exhaled deeply, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. "Fine, just for a few minutes."
I smiled, pointing at the book on my nightstand. It was a steamy romance I'd just bought-and I deliberately chose it. Maybe, just maybe, I could make him feel what I'd been feeling all along.
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8.2
For three years, nineteen-year-old Ella Campbell rotted in a freezing psychiatric isolation room.
Her billionaire family didn't visit her once, only pulling her out today to force her to publicly apologize to Ashlyn, the perfect sister who had framed her.
At Ashlyn's glamorous engagement gala, Ella was treated worse than a stray dog and forced to watch her childhood sweetheart propose to her sister.
When Ella showed no jealousy, her brother Ivan dragged her onto a dark balcony and nearly choked her to death.
Her mother didn't even check if Ella was breathing, merely ordering a makeup artist to paint thick concealer over the dark purple handprints on Ella's neck so the family's stock price wouldn't drop.
Standing under the blinding stage lights in a shapeless gray dress, facing three hundred mocking Wall Street executives, Ella was supposed to be the broken, obedient psycho the Campbells needed.
"I am deeply sorry for the pain I caused."
She was supposed to end the apology there and bow to her abusers, but Ella didn't shed a single tear.
"My only regret is that I didn't insist on waiting for the police to arrive that night. I deeply regret that I didn't demand a full, legal toxicology report to prove to everyone exactly what happened."
As the ballroom erupted into suspicious whispers and her paralyzed twin brother finally saw the violent bruises hidden beneath her makeup, Ella's counterattack against the Campbell family officially began.
9.8
When Dawn Collins agrees to marry a stranger, love is the last thing on her mind.
All she wants is to protect her siblings and give them a better life. But fate leads her into the arms of Adam Manchester-a man whose heart belongs to a wife lying in a coma.
As Dawn slowly melts the ice around Adam's heart, she begins to believe that maybe, just maybe, love can bloom from sacrifice.
But on the night she's ready to claim her happiness, Adam's wife wakes up.
Now, caught between guilt, love, and heartbreak, Dawn must decide whether to fight for the man she's grown to love... or walk away from the life she risked everything to build.
Because some hearts never let go-and some love stories were never meant to have an easy ending.
9.7
Gemma expected the tearing agony of the bullet wound that had just ended her life.
Instead, her trembling fingers met the cool, smooth friction of heavy silk.
She stared into the mirror. Her face was flawless, completely devoid of the jagged scar that had marred her cheek for the last five years.
It was exactly ten years ago. The day of her engagement party to the ruthless billionaire, Brion Hubbard.
In her past life, her "best friend" Katelyn convinced her to run away with a scheming scumbag.
Katelyn claimed Brion was a heartless tyrant who would ruin her. Gemma had foolishly believed those fake tears.
That choice led to her family's bankruptcy, her brutal disfigurement, and ultimately, a fatal bomb explosion.
The only person who tried to save her was Brion, his blood-soaked body shielding hers from the blast.
She even realized too late that the strawberry cream cakes she always made for him were full of dairy.
He wasn't leaving to cheat on her. He was locking himself in a medical bay, fighting fatal allergic shock, just to accept a tiny scrap of her affection.
Gemma had been so incredibly blind. Why did she trust the venomous snakes who destroyed her, while hating the man who died for her?
Hearing Katelyn frantically knocking on the dressing room door, urging her to run away again, a towering hatred surged through Gemma's veins.
This time, she wasn't going to run.
She was going to expose the traitors, take back her family's wealth, and claim the tyrant for herself.
9.0
Carli followed an anonymous text to a dark garage, only to find her fiancé of seven years tangled with another woman in his Porsche.
She smashed his window, threw her engagement ring at his face, and walked away.
But the betrayal didn't stop there. Her own family sided with the cheater. Her father slapped her across the face so hard she bled, demanding she hand over her late aunt's trust fund.
"If you don't do exactly as you're told tonight, I will freeze every credit card in your name," her father roared.
Forced to attend the exclusive Gutierrez family gala, Carli watched her ex-fiancé parade his cheap mistress to humiliate her, while her stepsister tried to publicly ruin her.
Suddenly, a violent screech echoed as the massive crystal chandelier above them snapped from the ceiling.
In a split second of pure instinct, Vaughn shoved his mistress to safety and threw himself to the ground, completely abandoning Carli to be crushed.
Staring up at the plummeting glass, Carli felt the crushing reality that her entire life had been surrounded by monsters.
But the fatal impact never came.
A massive force yanked her into a hard chest, shielding her body entirely from the explosive shrapnel.
Carli opened her eyes to find Fletcher Gutierrez—the ruthless billionaire king of Wall Street and the masked stranger from her reckless one-night stand—bleeding heavily over her.
Feeling his warm blood on her hands, Carli knew the game had just changed.
8.9
My family's company went bankrupt, and my biological father was lying in the ICU, kept alive by machines that cost tens of thousands a day.
I thought it was just a tragic business failure, until I caught my mother in bed with my stepfather.
They had secretly transferred all our assets months ago, deliberately bankrupting the company and leaving my father to die.
To pay the hospital bills, my stepfather forced me to a private club, trying to sell me to a sleazy investor.
When I refused, he slapped me across the face, and my mother just looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"Be realistic, Jaelynn. A woman's body is a tool. Use it to get what you need."
Later, right before my father's emergency surgery, my stepfather signed a Do Not Resuscitate order and froze the medical accounts.
"If you don't get on your knees and spread your legs for him, I will tell the hospital to pull your father's plug."
Standing in the freezing rain, covered in mud and blood, I stared at the astronomical hospital bill in my hand.
My own family had plotted to murder my father and sell me to the highest bidder. The betrayal shattered every ounce of sanity I had left.
I didn't cry or beg them anymore.
Instead, I pulled out a water-stained, gold-embossed business card.
It belonged to Dolph Valentine, the most ruthless billionaire in New York and my ex-fiancé's uncle.
If they wanted to destroy my life, I was going to sell my soul to the biggest monster of them all and drag them straight to hell.
7.6
I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it."