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Ever since the Hawthorne family's lawyer told me I wasn't their biological daughter, but the orphan of a deceased business rival, Damien, my technical brother and the ruthless heir to the Hawthorne Group, had built a wall of ice between us. His distance was suffocating. Just as I was about to accept a CEO position at an overseas branch to escape New York City forever, I hacked into his off-limits private computer. Inside was an encrypted folder filled with audio recordings of his therapy sessions: "Fuck! After her eighteenth birthday, everything changed. She's not a little girl anymore. Her womanly charm is like a fine whiskey—fiery, intoxicating. It's driving me to the edge." "Today, at the board meeting, I nearly dragged her out of her chair and kissed her senseless in front of the entire board." "The way she threw that punch at the charity boxing match... all I wanted was to pin her against the ropes and take her, hard, from behind." "If she dares call me 'Dami' with that innocent look in her eyes again, I swear I'll get her pregnant with my heir and announce it at the next Hawthorne Group press conference for the whole world to see!" I slammed the laptop shut. That night, I let my long hair down, slipped into one of his custom-made white dress shirts—and nothing else—and strode into his bedroom. "I'm in charge now, Dami," I whispered, my voice a low purr. "And you are going to please me."