Chris
The low hum of chatter in the café barely masked the sound of polished shoes clicking against marble floors. Chris Donovan stepped inside like he owned the place—hell, he owned half the city, why not this café too? His tailored black suit hugged his broad shoulders, his cufflinks glinting under the golden lights. Every woman in the room glanced his way, drawn to the lethal combination of wealth, power, and sin that radiated off him like heat. But his eyes weren’t on them. They were locked on her. Manahil stood at the counter, clutching a tray like it was a shield, her knuckles pale against the polished wood. She didn’t have to look up to know he was staring—she could feel it, hot and heavy, like he was peeling away every layer of distance between them. When she finally met his gaze, her stomach twisted in disgust. That look… predatory, dark, like he could devour her whole if she gave him a second too long. She’d survived men like him before—men who thought women were property
About Chris
The low hum of chatter in the café barely masked the sound of polished shoes clicking against marble floors. Chris Donovan stepped inside like he owned the place—hell, he owned half the city, why not this café too? His tailored black suit hugged his broad shoulders, his cufflinks glinting under the golden lights. Every woman in the room glanced ...Read more