Cutting His Thread For The Billionaire
Language: en
I was born with a quiet, peculiar curse: I can see the threads of devotion. They grow from the center of a chest—a thin, luminous cord of crimson that snakes out and anchors itself to the wrist of the person they love most. The deeper the shade of red, the more consuming the passion. Ten years ago, the first time Damian looked at me, his cheeks flushed, and a pale pink thread drifted from his chest to bind itself around my left wrist. Over the years, through his confession, his proposal, and finally our wedding, that thread deepened until it glowed like a hot ember—intense, bright, and…