BURNING DESIRE (contract marriage)

Chapter 7

Arabella’s POV

The city feels different today, sharper somehow, as if it senses the storm I’ve invited into my life. Every step I take through Aurelia’s streets hums with electricity, a constant reminder that nothing can be the same again. Not my life. Not my choices. Not me.

Jaxon. The thought of him gnaws at my mind, impossible to shake. He’s there in every shadow, every reflection, every quickened heartbeat. I’ve tasted chaos, and now it lingers in my veins like fire, a permanent ache I can’t ignore.

But reality, as it always does, crashes in—unforgiving, unyielding. My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter. Marcus. Noon.

I swallow hard. The ultimatum isn’t negotiable. It’s not a request. It’s a warning etched in steel and ice. The words echo again in my head: “Show up tomorrow prepared to fix this, or you lose everything.”

I want to scream. I want to ignore it. I want to slip back into the safety of Jaxon’s chaos and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. But I can’t—not yet.

I throw on a tailored blazer, pencil skirt, and heels, trying to armor myself for the inevitable battlefield. The mirror reflects someone I barely recognize—polished, controlled, untouchable. The façade I’ve built over years is almost convincing. Almost.

Because inside, I’m still burning. Still trembling. Still undone by the man who has no place in my carefully constructed life.

The drive to Kingston Tech is a tense blur. Every red light, every honking horn, every flash of neon makes my chest tighten. I keep checking my phone, half-expecting a message from him, half-fearing it.

By the time I arrive, the building feels colder, more imposing than ever. Kingston Tech Tower is sleek, pristine, a monument to control and power—my father’s empire, my family’s expectations, and the chain I can’t seem to break.

The boardroom is a war zone disguised as professionalism. Marcus is seated at the head of the polished oak table, face immovable, expression sharp as a knife. Evelyn sits beside him, eyes flicking between me and the glowing screen displaying last quarter’s projections, market trends, and investor complaints.

I take a breath and step inside, heels clicking against marble floors like a challenge. They look up, and I can feel the weight of expectation pressing down, suffocating.

“Arabella,” Marcus says, voice low, tight, dangerous. “Do you understand why you’re here?”

“Yes,” I reply, steady, forcing the words to carry conviction I don’t entirely feel.

“You’ve… behaved recklessly,” Evelyn adds, her tone sharp, precise, cutting. “Investors are uneasy. There’s speculation. Stories are circulating. This… behavior is unacceptable.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. They talk about “behavior” as if it’s separate from me, as if I can detach my life from my choices. But I’ve already crossed that line. I’ve tasted the chaos I’ve been chasing for years, and nothing else seems to matter.

Marcus leans forward, fingers steepled. “This isn’t a suggestion, Arabella. You need to fix this. You need to regain control. Or—” His words cut off, the threat sharp, unspoken.

I swallow, keeping my defiance in check. “And if I can’t?” I ask evenly.

His eyes narrow. “Then you lose it all.”

I can feel it: the weight of their world, the careful construction of power and image, and the stark, suffocating threat of losing it. And yet… all I can think of is Jaxon.

I’m about to speak, to tell them something I shouldn’t, when my phone vibrates in my clutch. A single message lights the screen:

“Meet me. Now.”

No name. No explanation. Just a command that twists my stomach. My pulse jumps instantly, and I feel that same fire, the same chaos, the same reckless abandon. Jaxon.

I glance at my parents, and their stern faces blur as desire and panic fight in my chest. The room feels smaller, suffocating. The ultimatum. The gala. The inheritance. All of it feels distant, irrelevant, meaningless compared to the pull of him.

I make a decision before my rational mind can catch up. One step. One choice. One act of defiance.

“I have to step out,” I murmur, voice calm but steady. “There’s… a matter I need to handle.”

Marcus raises an eyebrow. “Arabella—”

“I’ll be back,” I cut in, already moving toward the door. My heels click against the marble floors, echoing like a drumbeat of rebellion.

Once outside, the air hits me like a shock. The city is bright, loud, alive, and I’m acutely aware of every heartbeat, every nerve, every inch of skin. My fingers tremble as I type a quick response, letting him know I’m coming.

Minutes later, I find myself at The Den again. It’s dark, buzzing, alive, and chaotic—the perfect contrast to the sterile control I left behind at Kingston Tower.

He’s waiting. Of course he’s waiting. Like always, calm, collected, untouchable. But there’s something different in his eyes today—something sharper, more urgent, like he knows the stakes, like he understands that the line we’re crossing isn’t just mine.

“You came,” he says, low, dangerous. His presence hits me like gravity, pulling me into the orbit I can’t escape.

“Always,” I reply.

He studies me, and I feel under his scrutiny, exposed, vulnerable, wild. But I don’t back down. I can’t.

“You know this is reckless,” he murmurs, almost a growl.

“I’ve never cared for caution,” I answer honestly.

His smirk is slow, deliberate, knowing. “Good. I like it when you’re honest. Especially when it scares the hell out of me.”

I shiver at the words. Scared him? Dangerous. That’s exactly what I want—to shake him, to test him, to see if he’s human at all beneath that perfect, controlled exterior.

We move together through the thrumming chaos of the club, a dance of unspoken understanding and wild tension. Even here, amidst the crowd, it feels like no one exists but us.

“You’re playing with fire,” he says, voice low, intense. “And you know it.”

“And you,” I counter, eyes blazing, “are the storm I can’t walk away from.”

He stops, and for a moment, we just look at each other. The weight of everything—the world outside, the ultimatums, the consequences—is pressing down. And yet, in this moment, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is this.

“Tonight changes nothing,” he whispers, though the fire in his eyes betrays him.

“Everything changes,” I answer. Because it does. My life, my rules, my world—nothing will ever be the same.

A sudden wave of clarity hits me as I stand there, heart racing, mind burning. Jaxon isn’t just a choice. He’s a reckoning. A temptation. A danger so intoxicating I can’t resist. And I realize that for the first time, I don’t want to resist.

Not him.

Not the fire.

Not the storm.

Because storms—no matter how violent—leave their mark. And I’m ready to be marked.

And just as the tension hits its peak, my phone buzzes. A new message, urgent, cryptic:

“They know. Be careful. Tonight isn’t just about us.”

I freeze. My pulse spikes. My stomach twists. Something is coming, bigger than Jaxon. Bigger than me.

I glance at him. His dark eyes meet mine, stormy, unreadable.

“Tell me everything,” I demand, voice trembling despite myself.

He doesn’t answer. He just pulls me close, voice barely audible:

“This is only the beginning. You’re in deeper than you think.”

And in that moment, I know—I’ve crossed the point of no return. The storm isn’t just him anymore. It’s the world, my family, my life. And it’s coming for me, whether I’m ready or not.