BURNING DESIRE (contract marriage)

Chapter 8

Arabella’s POV

The city has a different pulse at night. Darker. Louder. Harsher. It feels like it knows what’s coming, like it’s aware that nothing in my life is safe anymore. My heels click against the pavement, but the sound feels hollow, drowned out by the storm in my chest. Every nerve is on fire, every thought consumed by him—and yet, something heavier weighs on me now.

Jaxon.

Danger. Desire. Fire. All of it wrapped into a man who could ruin me—or save me. And now… a warning. “They know. Be careful. Tonight isn’t just about us.”

My mind races. Who knows? How much do they know? And—more importantly—how far are they willing to go?

I reach The Den, heart hammering, adrenaline thrumming in my veins. It’s alive, chaotic, screaming with music, neon, and heat—but tonight, it feels like a battlefield, each pulse of bass a drumbeat of war. I see Jaxon immediately. Of course I do. He’s leaning casually against the bar, dark and untouchable, but his eyes—those eyes—scan the crowd with a precision that makes my blood run cold.

“They’re here,” he says the moment I reach him, voice low, clipped, dangerous.

“Who?” I whisper, my pulse spiking.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he grabs my hand, dragging me away from the crowd, toward a shadowed corridor behind the main floor. Every step we take feels like a countdown, each heartbeat marking danger approaching faster than I can comprehend.

“I don’t have time to explain everything,” he says finally, voice tight. “But you need to trust me. Whoever’s watching… they’re not here for a friendly conversation.”

I glance around, my stomach twisting. Surveillance? Threats? Secrets? My world is unraveling faster than I can process.

“Jaxon… what is happening?” I demand. My voice shakes despite my effort to remain composed.

He stops, his body pressing close, hands gripping my arms with an intensity that leaves no doubt about his control. “You crossed a line, Arabella,” he says, voice low, almost dangerous. “And now, the people who control everything you’ve built, your family… they’re moving. Tonight, nothing is safe. Not you. Not me. Not the life you thought you had.”

I swallow hard, panic and desire warring in my chest. I want to fight him. I want to push him away. But I can’t. He’s too magnetic, too dangerous, too necessary. My fingers tighten on his arms. “Then what do we do?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. He studies me like I’m both the question and the answer. Then, almost reluctantly, he murmurs, “We disappear… for a little while. We need leverage. We need control. Or they’ll destroy everything before we even know what’s happening.”

Disappear. My stomach twists again. This isn’t about passion anymore. This isn’t about desire. This is bigger. So much bigger. And suddenly, the thrill I used to crave—chaos, lust, rebellion—feels like a lifeline. Because if I’m going to survive tonight, I need him. I need him more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life.

We move quickly, the sounds of the club fading behind us, replaced by the low hum of the streets. He leads me to a sleek, black car waiting in the alley, engine purring like a predator. The door opens, and he motions me inside.

Once we’re seated, he finally lets out a long breath, tension still coiled in his jaw. “You need to understand something,” he says, voice softer, but still dangerous. “I can’t protect you from everything. But I can protect you from me… and what I bring into your life.”

I stare at him, disbelief and longing mixing in my chest. “Protect me… from you?”

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he reaches over, taking my hand, thumb brushing against my knuckles. “Yes. Because I’m a storm, Arabella. And storms destroy everything in their path. If you let me… you could lose everything—family, friends, your life as you know it.”

I bite my lip, the weight of his words sinking into my chest. And yet… I’m already in the eye of his storm. I’ve already tasted chaos, and there’s no turning back.

“Then let’s make sure we survive it,” I whisper, voice low, steadying myself with determination I didn’t know I had.

His dark eyes flick to mine, measuring, weighing, understanding. “Good,” he says, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Because the night isn’t over. And neither are the games they’re playing.”

The drive is tense, silent, each moment thick with anticipation. I can feel him watching me, calculating, protective, dangerous. My pulse pounds, not just from fear, but from the raw electricity of being near him, from the undeniable connection between us.

We arrive at a small, nondescript building on the outskirts of the city. He doesn’t speak as he opens the door and ushers me inside. The interior is stark, industrial, empty—functional. Safe. For now.

He closes the door behind us and finally turns to me, his gaze dark, unreadable. “No distractions. No mistakes. You need to focus, Arabella. Because whoever is after you… they’re ruthless. They won’t stop until they’ve taken everything you care about.”

I nod, trying to steady my racing heart. “What do we do first?”

He steps closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “We plan. We strategize. We control what we can. But you… you’re going to have to trust me completely. No questions. No hesitation. No distractions.”

I inhale sharply, swallowing the fear and desire that threaten to overtake me. “I trust you,” I say, though my voice trembles slightly. And I do. With every fiber of my being, I trust him. Even when I shouldn’t. Even when it terrifies me.

He studies me for a long moment, and then, for the first time, I see a crack in his armor. Vulnerability. A fleeting shadow behind his dark, commanding eyes. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because after tonight… nothing will ever be the same.”

I shiver, not from cold, but from the weight of what he’s saying. Because I know he’s right. The storm I invited into my life has only just begun. And I am already standing in the middle of it, exposed, unafraid, and utterly alive.

And then, without warning, his phone buzzes. He glances at it, eyes narrowing. A shadow crosses his face, sharp, dangerous. “They’re moving faster than we anticipated,” he mutters.

I feel my stomach drop. “Who? What—”

“Not here,” he interrupts, voice low, clipped. “We leave now. Follow me, no questions.”

And just like that, everything changes. The room, the plan, my life, my pulse—it all spins, tilts, and shifts. The storm isn’t coming… it’s here.

And I’m right in the middle of it.