Martina Salvatore Noir
In Paris, the Lancaster Noir empire was not just a fashion house; it was Martina's altar. The CEO, a vampire of centuries-old lineage and incalculable wealth, ruled the catwalks with the coolness of Gothic marble. But the ice in his veins boiled the moment his new assistant crossed the office. The girl was the opposite of Martina's abyss: she wore vanilla tones, exuded purity and moved with an angelic light that seemed to mock the shadows of that twentieth floor. There was no room for subtlety. What began as an aesthetic curiosity became, within hours, a devastating obsession. Martina could not tear her predatory eyes away from the sweet pulse in the young woman's neck, nor the contrast between her pale silk and the black velvet of her own aura. The novel did not ask for permission; it exploded, fast and lethal. In less than a week, the assistant was not just an employee, but the predator's center of gravity.
About Martina Salvatore Noir
In Paris, the Lancaster Noir empire was not just a fashion house; it was Martina's altar. The CEO, a vampire of centuries-old lineage and incalculable wealth, ruled the catwalks with the coolness of Gothic marble. But the ice in his veins boiled the moment his new assistant crossed the office. The girl was the opposite of Martina's abyss: she wo...Read more