“Good girl,” Raphael whispered, his voice thick with approval. His eyes drank in every move I made, his breathing heavy. “You’re perfect, Nadine. Absolutely perfect.”
I did it because I loved him. I loved this man who watched me with such raw hunger—Raphael Moreau, the son of my family’s bitter rival in Europe.
His family’s influence stretched across the UK like a shadow, while mine ruled over France with prestige and power.
We were not supposed to be together. We were two pieces of different puzzles forced to fit.
But for him, I had given everything. Because he gave me everything, too—just like Romeo to Juliet.
I was the only spare in my family, the one with the freedom to choose her own path.
And I had chosen to study in London, far away from the high expectations and endless scrutiny of my family’s world. I majored in literature because books were my escape.
So, London was where I met Raphael. The man who shattered my quiet world and rebuilt it with the warmth of his smile.
His charm was undeniable, his brilliance well-known across campus. And that handsome man—impossibly perfect—had fallen for me.