Some loves arrive gently—like sunlight seeping through lace curtains.
This one did not.
This love was a storm, sharp as broken glass, inevitable as nightfall.
Sharon had never asked for attention. She wasn't made for the spotlight. Quiet, shy, and withdrawn, she belonged to music more than people. Her guitar had been her first confidant, its strings carrying the words her lips were too afraid to speak. Singing soothed her migraines when nothing else could; melodies were her escape from the dull ache that often blurred her world.
Italy had raised her—or rather, her grandmother had. After the nightmarish accident that stole her parents and her only big brother when she was just nine, Sharon's childhood became silence and shadows. Her grandmother's love was gentle but aging, a fragile shield against loneliness. And so Sharon lived softly: a girl on the edges of the world, tucked into poetry, lullabies, and the corners of cafés where nobody looked twice at her.
Nobody—except him.
Akon had been born in the same city but into an entirely different world. His childhood ended in fire and screeching metal the night his parents died in a car crash, leaving him with nothing but his elder sister's fierce protection and a heart carved hollow by grief.
That hollowness never healed. It hardened.
By the time he was twenty, he had already tasted blood and betrayal. By twenty-two, he was a name whispered in fear: an Italian mafia boss with eyes like storms and hands both cruel and kind. He built his empire brick by brick, but control was always his crown. Control over business. Control over enemies. Control over himself.
Until her.
It happened in a café. A rainy evening. He wasn't supposed to be there—he had been passing through, shadowed by his men, mind occupied with business. And yet, the moment his gaze drifted across the room, he saw her.
Sharon.
She sat by the window, a book half-open on the table, her grandmother sipping tea beside her. Her hair was damp from the drizzle, clinging to her cheek. She wasn't extraordinary in the way the world defined beauty—she wasn't loud, painted, or glittering. But to Akon, she was devastating. The stillness in her, the way her fingers traced the rim of her cup, the way her eyes carried both pain and poetry—it hit him harder than any bullet ever had.
Obsession, they say, is born in silence.
That night, it was born in him.
He collected her name first. Then her age. Then every detail the world could offer him: where she studied, what she read, how often she sang in secret when she thought no one was listening. He memorized her as though she were scripture, as though she were the one thing capable of saving him from the ruins of himself.
But fate is cruel.
Days later, she was gone.
Tokyo had taken her back—her hometown, her mother's bloodline, her roots. And Akon was left behind, fists clenched, heart burning with a hunger that no empire could satisfy. He searched. God, he searched. But she had vanished, leaving only silence behind.
So he buried her the only way he knew how: with work. With violence. With years of building a dynasty. With the kind of focus that turned his name into power and his presence into legend. Yet at night, when his empire slept and the city was quiet, he still saw her. Sharon. The girl with the sad eyes and the guitar. The girl who had never even known he existed.
Five years passed.
And then—fate bent once more.
At an airport crowded with strangers, under the indifferent hum of fluorescent lights, he saw her again.
Sharon.
Older now, but not less delicate. Her hair longer, her beauty sharper, her quiet aura unchanged. She carried herself with the same fragile grace, but her eyes… her eyes had learned loss. They had learned loneliness. And the moment Akon's gaze found hers, his obsession reignited like fire starved of air.
This time, he promised himself, he wouldn't let her vanish.
Sharon had returned to Italy for her studies and work, uncertain, rootless, unsure of where to go next. She stayed with her aunt, trying to piece together a life that didn't feel borrowed. She applied for jobs, strummed her guitar in the quiet of her room, sang softly into the night when migraines didn't steal her strength. She didn't know the storm waiting for her. She didn't know the man who had been searching for her, who had carried her ghost inside him for years.
She didn't know Akon.
But Akon knew everything about her. Where she lived. Where she worked. What train she took. The color of her umbrella. The way she hummed under her breath when she thought nobody was listening.
And this time, he wouldn't stand in the shadows.
This time, Sharon wasn't just a passing vision.
She was his.
His obsession. His salvation. His ruin.
Dreamed Desire is not a story of gentle love. It is a tale of shadows and silk, of obsession that masquerades as protection, of a mafia boss who has everything except the one thing he cannot control: a shy, fragile girl with music in her veins.
And when their worlds collide again—five years after fate first tore them apart—Sharon will learn what it means to be desired by a man who doesn't ask, but takes.
Because in Akon's world, love isn't tender.
It is possession.
And Sharon was never meant to escape.