3 Book(s) Related to katarzyna zowada

“Marry me, Damien Hale.”
The words hung in the air like a gunshot.
For a moment, Damien didn’t move.
The faint smirk he’d worn vanished, replaced by something unreadable.
“What?” he said.
“I know how this sounds and I—”
“Tell me,” he interrupted, voice flat. “How does it sound?”
I swallowed. “I’m asking my ex-fiancé’s uncle to marry me. Do you need me to spell it out?”

I thought I had it all. Four years of love, loyalty, and dreams of forever with the man I trusted most. But one devastating secret shatters my world. The man I planned to marry has a family he’s hidden from me. A wife, a kid, and another one on the way.
The lies cut deep. The betrayal, deeper.
I didn’t cry, neither did I beg.
Instead, I will make him regret ever thinking I’d be the fool who stays.
My revenge? Bold and Scandalous.
I proposed marriage to the last man my ex would ever want me near. His wealthy, powerful, and dangerously captivating uncle.
To my shock, the uncle accepts.
But, not without his own terms.
What is it?
“You won’t just be my wife on paper, Serena. You’ll be mine in every sense that matters. Publicly. Privately. Behind closed doors, there won’t be an act. You’ll wear my name, my ring, and you’ll play the part until it becomes your reality.”
“No one… Not even you, forget who you belong to once you walk into my world. You asked a dangerous man to be your husband. Now you’ll live with what that means.”

The more time I spend with him, the more I realize he isn’t just a weapon for revenge, he’s a man who can set my body and soul ablaze.

Oh, Damn.
Revenge should never feel this intoxicating.

“You look like her,” my father whispered, forcing me into my twin sister’s wedding dress, but he didn't warn me that I was marrying a monster.

My twin sister ran away, leaving me to marry Luciano Moretti, a ruthless Mafia Don. I walked down the aisle, trembling, praying he wouldn't notice the switch. But the moment he kissed me at the altar, his tongue invaded my mouth, demanding and possessive, tasting me like I was his property.

I thought I could hide the truth. But on our wedding night, he walked out of the bathroom wearing only a towel, water dripping down his sculpted abs and the distinct V-line that pointed to his heavy manhood.

He cornered me against the bed. “You smell different, wifey,” he whispered, his hand sliding up my thigh, his thumb brushing dangerously close to my wet heat.

I tried to push him away, but the next morning, he decided to test me. He pushed a plate of peanut butter bagels toward me—food that would kill me, but was my sister's favorite.

“Eat,” he commanded, his eyes dropping to my chest where my nipples were hard against the silk robe. “Or do you want me to feed you something else?”

His gaze darkened, shifting to my lips, and I knew he wasn't talking about food. He knows I'm a fake. And he’s going to enjoy every second of punishing me for it.

Sending a sheer lingerie photo to my ruthless billionaire boss was a complete accident, but him locking his office door, pressing his massive, rock-hard erection against my stomach, and telling me to strip was a threat.

I was drowning in debt, and in a moment of weak empowerment, I snapped a photo of my swollen breasts spilling out of a crimson lace bra, the delicate thong barely hiding my wet, aching pussy. My thumb slipped. The explicit picture went straight to Alexander Grant.

I expected to be fired. Instead, he locked the heavy oak doors of his private office.

He didn't yell. He just trapped me against the wall, his thick thigh shoving aggressively between my legs, rubbing the rough fabric of his suit directly against my dripping center. I let out a pathetic, wet moan as his large hand wrapped around my throat.

"I will pay off every single cent of your debt," his deep voice vibrated against my lips, his thumb brushing my racing pulse. "But in exchange, you will be my exclusive plaything. Your body, your wetness, your tight little cunt—all mine."

I wanted to scream, but my body was completely betraying me. He handed me a velvet box containing the exact same crimson lingerie and ordered me to put it on. When I stepped out of his private bathroom, the lace hugging my hypersensitive nipples, his dark eyes flared with unhinged lust.

He didn't even take off his suit. He just ripped the lace panties down my thighs, shoved two thick fingers deep into my soaking wet vagina, and pumped me hard until I screamed his name.

I signed the contract with my legs still shaking and his musky scent buried deep inside me. But what happens when the monster who bought your body decides he wants to own your soul too?