Rosella kept files the way other women kept perfume.
Under her bed—silk-lined box.
Inside it? Folders labeled with names. Men. Ages. Scandals. Secrets. Contracts. Sex tapes. Screenshots. Signed NDAs they never read.
She called it her garden.
Every file a flower. Every flower grown from the tears of a man who thought he could outplay her.
---
Senator Martin Lake
Devoted husband. Christian morals. "Family first" public figure.
Rosella had him on tape naked in a hotel room, begging to lick the sweat from her feet.
> "Please, Ms. Virelli. Let me be your good boy."
She leaked it anonymously. Watched his political career disintegrate.
She came that night while watching him give a teary press statement beside his wife. Sigh~
---
Brandon Cruz
Personal trainer. Baby-faced. Cocky. Hung like a horse.
She let him think he was the first man to make her moan.
He wasn't.
> "I want to open my own gym," he said, head between her thighs.
> "Of course you do, baby."
She gave him a loan. Then had the deed transferred into her holding company. He was evicted three weeks after the grand opening.
> "You used me!" he screamed outside her car window. She watched the moment his heart broke — and smiled. Nothing made her wetter than watching a man realize he was never in control." She leaned over, tits spilling in her coat, and smiled."
"No. I owned you."
---
Julian Roth – Her Latest Ruin
Rosella reclined in her bed, silk robe parted to her navel.
Her phone glowed with a screen recording: Julian sobbing in his car, drunk and bankrupt, whispering "Rosella, why did you do this to me?"
Her fingers were slick already.
She pressed play.
"Cry for me, Julian…""Make me cum like you did the day I signed your soul away."
."She smiled deadly as she reminisced on the last night".
Her legs trembled as She came violently, gripping the edge of the chair, moaning softly into the room.
Control was the orgasm.
Power was the drug.
Why do i have to keep you when the broken pieces of you can satisfy me, Rosella thought aloud as she licked her fingers clean.
She reached beneath her pillow and pulled out a new folder.
Black. Fresh. Sealed.
In bold red letters:
CONFIDENTIAL: HALE, D. – MALE. AGE 22. OFFERED HIMSELF.
Rosella smiled as she slid the file back in.
A college boy.
Cute. Desperate.
Looking for help with tuition.
Looking for her.
They always thought they could handle her.
She leaned back in bed, thighs still damp with pleasure.
> "Let's see what this one has to offer…"
And just like that—
Her newest story began.
Dominic Hale – His POV
He stood in the marble lobby of Virelli Global wearing a borrowed suit and nerves sharp enough to slice.
The receptionist looked at him like he didn't belong. She was right.
Dominic Hale was broke. Black. Brilliant. Hungry. And obsessed with Rosella Virelli.
He had watched every interview she ever gave. He had read rumors about how she made men disappear. And he still wanted her.
He didn't just want her to ruin him— He wanted her to own him.
"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked, eyeing his scuffed shoes.
"No. I came to see Ms. Virelli. I have… an offer."
She laughed.
He cleared his throat.
Her brows lifted. She didn't even try to hide her amusement.
> "What kind of offer?"
> "The kind that requires privacy."
But minutes later, he was inside her office.
And she was leaning against her desk in a wine-colored blouse, black bra visible, one brow arched as she looked him over,her lipstick " war paint" looking at her and hearing all the rumours you would know She didn't just break hearts. She devoured legacies.
And he still wanted her.
No. He ached for her.
Not just to touch her.
To be chosen by her.
To be used by her.
He didn't want her love. That was for fools.
He wanted her cruelty.
He wanted to be the latest page in her silk-lined box.
He clenched his fists in his pockets. Not from fear.
From anticipation.
He had imagined this moment for months.
Practiced it in mirrors.
Dreamt about it.
And now—she was real.
Rosella Virelli stood at the far end of her office, backlit by a skyline that shimmered like her reputation: cold, flawless, untouchable.
She was draped in a wine-colored blouse, silk clinging to her like it worshiped her. The top buttons were undone—enough to show a hint of black lace. Her lips were deep red, curved in something cruel.
She didn't speak at first.
She just looked at him.
And Dominic's obsession cracked wide open under her gaze.
He had never felt small before.
Not at school. Not in bed.
But standing in her presence, he wasn't a man.
He was potential
"You came to sell yourself?" she asked coldly. "To fuck your way into a job?"
He swallowed. His cock stirred against his pants.
"I came to serve," he said. "Any way you'll let me."
She circled him like a shark, her heels echoing like a metronome.
She stopped behind him. Her breath was warm at his neck.
"Strip."
He froze.
"Now."
His jacket hit the floor.
Then his shirt.
"Slower," she snapped. "I want to see how shame tastes on you."