Prologue - Last breath before ruin
Nikita.
Six months.
That’s how long it had been since I left my husband at the airport, honeymoon-bound, and walked back into Tate Blackwood’s world like I never should’ve left.
Six months since I swapped safe for savage.
Since I chose obsession over obligation.
Since I came home.
And for a while, it was bliss.
Yacht trips. Penthouse mornings. Sex on every available surface. Him looking at me like I hung the fucking moon.
But we were never built for the honeymoon phase.
We weren’t designed for gentle. For routine.
We were fire and friction.
Teeth marks and daring.
Battles disguised as love letters.
And six months of soft?
It started to feel like sandpaper.
Not because the love faded.
Because it settled.
And Tate Blackwood doesn’t settle.
Neither do I.
I caught myself one morning, lounging in one of his shirts, sipping overpriced coffee, and wondering when the last time was he’d told me I was his without slamming me up against a wall.
And just like that, the itch began.
A question.
A dare.
How far could we go if we started again?
Not from the beginning.
From the edge.
No rules.
No mercy.
Just us.
Pushing.
Playing.
Fucking.
Falling all over again.
I left a note on the kitchen counter that said nothing but:
Game on.
And waited for the storm.
Author’s Note
If you’re already hooked… hit that reaction, drop a comment, and let me know you're breathing—because I don’t write for silence.
And if you leave a review? You might just end up on my unofficial, completely chaotic, emotionally biased favourites list.
The ones who made me laugh. The ones who bared their souls. The ones who reminded me why I write the dark stuff.
Let’s see if you make the cut.
It only gets more unhinged from here.
Sinfully Yours, always—
Eden Quinn 💋
Author. Filth dealer. Collector of bad boys.
If you survive this, you’re mine.
Free to read… but it costs you your soul. No refunds.
