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My Obsessed Billionaire Stepbrothers

By day, I’m Aurelia, endlessly tormented. by my two stepbrothers. They should be off-limits, forbidden, yet every teasing comment, every touch that lingers a little too long, is a spark that sets off flames of my unrequited crush on them. When a mysterious invitation to work at a secretive VIP club comes my way, I think it’s my chance to escape. But the club is a darker world than I imagined. Here, I don’t merely submit; I’m masked, displayed on a stage, to be used, savored, devoured by men coated in power and sin. What happens when the stepbrothers who plague my thoughts claim the woman behind the scarlet mask, ignorant that it’s me they’re touching, tasting, conquering? That is before ’He’ comes along, the club’s mysterious owner, a dark prince who knows exactly how to tie a girl up in knots—both literally and figuratively. His eyes watch me from the shadows, always hungry, always wanting more than just a stage performance. His twisted fantasies should scare me, but they only pull me closer into his all consuming darkness. But when my mask slips and my identity is almost exposed, the dark prince of the club becomes an obsessive hunter. He’s not just after my submission; he wants to unmask my soul, rip out my heart, and claim it as his own. Now, I’m caught between my stepbrothers, who know my darkest secrets, and a wicked prince whose dark desires should terrify me, but don’t. It’s a sick, twisted tale of love and possession, but one question remains: who’ll own me when the clock strikes 12?

naansiringson · 现代言情
分數不夠
137 Chs

CHAPTER 114

Kane

The cell is as dark as it is cold, with stone walls pressing in on me like the weight of all my failures. The shackles around my wrists bite into my skin, a constant reminder that I walked into this willingly. I was convinced I could save her. Now, the only sounds that keep me company are the drip of water somewhere far off and the distant echoes of footsteps in the labyrinth of hallways above.

Suddenly, the door to my cell creaks open, the sound

of metal grating against stone sharp in the stillness. I sit up, muscles tense, as a figure steps into the dim light. It's him.

Leonard.

He's dressed as if he's about to attend a royal banquet—regal and immaculate in his tailored suit. His face, usually so composed and unreadable, carries a twisted smirk that makes my blood boil.

"Well, well, Kane," Leonard drawls, his voice dripping with mockery.