Dead Before the Sequel

Dead Before the Sequel

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WpMetadataReadMatureComplete Fri, Oct 17, 20254h 31m
I died. Came back. Now I'm living in a soap opera-and no, I don't get a script. Transmigrated as the older twin in a wildly rich, wildly dramatic family, I'm surrounded by love triangles, overprotective parents, and the kind of chaos that would give reality TV execs a stroke. My sister's perfect. I'm... not. And while she collects admirers, I collect emotional damage-and maybe one terrifyingly attractive, possibly robotic boyfriend who understands me a little too well. There are secret pasts. Public scandals. Too much glitter. This isn't a romance. It's survival. And I'm done playing the sidekick.
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"What are you?" the older man questioned, his voice a chilling blend of authority and amusement, like a knife wrapped in silk. "Your wife," I replied softly, my tone laced with the submission he seemed to crave. "No," he murmured, his lips brushing mine, the words a dark caress that sent shivers through me. "You are my doll, milaya." He towered over me, his intimidating presence both suffocating and intoxicating. The nickname, spoken in that deep, accented voice, wrapped around me like a chain I couldn't help but love. "You are the only woman who is allowed to warm my bed at night," he said, his voice a dark melody, smooth but unnerving. "The only woman who's allowed to step into my office and bend over my desk, waiting for me to come home so I can fuck you." A cold, low chuckle rumbled from his chest, the sound as sinister as it was intoxicating, sending shivers down my spine. ♡ Dimitri Mikhailov, the russian mobster. His presence filled the room like a storm. He didn't have to move or speak to dominate the room. Broad-shouldered and imposing, his scarred face told a thousand stories that he'd never waste words on. He was my husband and I was his precious doll.

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