Nervous trip over my words

You are so pretty it hurts

Baby I am yours , Baby I am yours

Baby I am yours,

I need something more

I'll pray to the lord

That baby I am yours

~i am yours

Everyone says flowers are a symbol of love.

To me? They're just a reminder of promises that never survived reality.

The moment I stepped into my office this morning, the reception area looked like a florist's festival - roses, lilies, orchids... all expensive, overly fragrant, suffocatingly perfect. Bouquets stacked like a shrine built for a queen who never asked to be worshipped.

Little cards with sugary lies-

"Happy Birthday, Ma'am!"

"You inspire us!"

"We admire your strength!"

Strength? Admiration?

If only they knew - admiration doesn't warm cold nights.

Strength doesn't silence a breaking heart.

The only gesture I want...

never arrives.

Not even a single daisy from the only man whose attention could make me forget every other bouquet in this world.

So what's the point of these hundreds of meaningless flowers?

I forced a polite corporate smile - the one that burns my cheeks with irritation - while nodding and saying thank you to people who are nothing but extra characters in my story.

As soon as I shut the heavy glass door of my private cabin, silence swallowed me whole.

A silence that pressed against my ribs like a secret I couldn't breathe through.

I tossed my purse onto the leather chair and exhaled sharply, like I'd been holding my breath for years.

Right... I should introduce myself before this story gets more sinful.

I am Advika Singhania.

Youngest heiress of the Singhania legacy.

Owner of Singhania fashion- the fastest rising fashion brand in India.

A woman who likes her rules broken - and her lovers on their knees.

I want it all - power, success... and him.

Soon I'll be shifting to Italy -

because India can no longer contain my ambition.

Runways?

I don't walk them -

I own them.

But ambition isn't the only reason I'm leaving this country behind.

There's a darker, more forbidden reason.

One that could ruin me beautifully.

My brother's best friend.

A man too powerful for the world.

Too dangerous for my sanity.

Too intoxicating for innocence.

Dante Russo.

We've never met.

Not once.

But I have two photographs of him hanging on my wall -

two images that have destroyed my sleep and resurrected my obsession.

In one - sleeves rolled up, eyes sharp, hands in pockets -

like he owns every molecule in the room.

In the other - a sinful half-smirk -

as if he knows the world will kneel without him asking.

If lust had a face...

If sin had a heartbeat...

If desire had a throne...

It would be him.

And soon - very soon - I will make sure our fates collide.

Why should I sit and rely on destiny?

Some dreams... you must drag into existence by their collar.

I dialed my brother - thumb trembling more than I liked.

He answered before the first ring even completed.

"Yup. Is it an emergency, Ika?"

His voice - deep, slightly Italian now - echoed through the line.

"No, but listen - my birthday is literally tomorrow."

I tried sounding casual, failed miserably.

"And last year you ditched me. This year you promised. So pack your bags and - bring your friends too! All of them!"

His sigh was theatrical.

"Oh my God... okay okay. I told them. I don't know if they'll-"

"What the f-"

My frustration slipped out like a slap.

"Language," he scolded.

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. I just want EVERYONE at my party. End. Of. Discussion."

Everyone...

meaning only one man.

Another deep sigh.

"Fine. I'll check. And I AM coming to India. Happy now?"

Happy?

He has no idea.

He called my name again - probably because I drifted into a fantasy where Dante's hands were on my waist and my lipstick was on his mouth.

"Huh?" I blinked.

"Where did you disappear?"

"Nowhere. Just... thinking about a file."

Yeah - a very sexy, sinful file named Dante.

"Don't stress. That file will be handled."

Then he casually dropped a bomb -

"Oh and... Dante-"

My heart. Stopped. Breathing.

Every beat became a gunshot in my chest.

Dante Russo.

The man who controls the Russo Empire.

The man corporations fear signing contracts with.

The man women pray to sin with.

Before he could say another word -

the idiot cut the call.

I almost threw my phone across the room.

Curiosity stabbed me - and I grabbed my phone again, scrolling through international business headlines.

"Russo Empire dominates global market - Dante Russo crowned No.1 Business Tycoon."

He could buy Italy.

He could buy countries.

Hell - he could buy me.

Not that I'd be cheap.

But I didn't need headlines to validate my obsession.

To the naive girls who ask:

"Can a woman be so obsessed?"

Oh, sweetheart... let me educate you:

Love is sweet.

Obsession is addictive.

And addiction?

That is the real power.

Obsession makes you bold enough to choose sin.

Makes you fearless enough to crave danger.

Makes you powerful enough to destroy heaven for one touch.

Because innocence?

Innocence is boring.

Office done.

Mind ruined.

Heart racing.

I grabbed my Porsche keys and drove home - to my silent, freezing mansion.

Family?

Broken.

Scattered.

Absent.

I parked my car and smiled - damn, she looked like a seductive cat tonight.

Heels clicking across my empty palace, I whispered into the quiet:

"I'm home..."

There was no one to hear it -

and I loved that.

Solitude is a queen's luxury.

I slipped into a hot tub - letting the heat melt every restraint off my skin.

Later, I stood in front of the mirror, admiring the danger in my reflection.

Mr. Russo... you are incredibly lucky.

Your admirer is perfect.

My room walls were covered with Dante's photographs - my private worship temple.

I hid them quickly - brother can't know, or I am a dead woman.

Fresh skin glowing, I sat on my bed -

just in time for the universe to reward me.

My phone rang.

Brother.

I inhaled. Composed myself. Answered with a fake bored tone:

"Yes?"

"We are coming."

Excuse me, what?

"We?? Name them. NOW."

I demanded.

"You'll see when we arrive-"

"BRO. THIS IS NOT A SURPRISE PARTY."

"You are SO annoying."

"I'm organizing everything! I need to know!"

He groaned.

Then finally:

"Me, Nicholas, Michael-"

"DANTE?"

Oops. Dead giveaway.

"Huh?"

"I-I mean... is Dante not coming?"

Playing dumb - terribly.

"Yes. Dante is coming. Took effort to convince him."

Effort?

Convince?

Why?

...Who cares?

HE. IS. COMING.

I silently danced like a lunatic.

"Perfect. And I want a BIG gift, okay?"

"Fine. Goodnight princess. And... happy birthday in advance."

"Thank you. Goodnight."

Call ended.

I screamed into a pillow.

Dante... come fast.

Your sweet little sin is waiting.

And just like that,

the night slipped away -

filled with fantasies that should be illegal to dream.