Empire of Desire(Empire #1)
Rina Kent
To those who didn’t only dare to hope,
But also went for it,
And grabbed that motherfucker by the throat.
Author Note
Hello reader friend, This book isn’t dark as the rest of my books, but it’s filled with a lot of angst and contains tropes such as age gap, father’s best friend, marriage of convenience, unrequited love, and office romance.
Empire of Desire is a complete STANDALONE.
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Blurb
My forbidden husband.
I kissed my father’s best friend and it kind of didn’t go well.
Not only because he’s eighteen years older than me—but he also didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
In my defense, I didn’t mean to fall for him. It just happened.
Nathaniel Weaver is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen with enough charisma to blind the sun.
He’s bigger than the world, owns half of it and conquered the other half.
He was forbidden.
Wrong.
So I totally got over him. Or so I told myself.
Until we’re forced to get married.
Now I’m trapped.
But maybe he’s trapped too.
Because we’re both reaching for that forbidden fruit dangling between us.
Playlist
Car Radio – Twenty One Pilots Trees – Twenty One Pilots Doubt – Twenty One Pilots The Hype – Twenty One Pilots Fall Away – Twenty One Pilots Chlorine – Twenty One Pilots Intro III – NF
Intro 2 – NF
The Search – NF
Just Like You – NF
You can find the complete playlist on Spotify.
Prologue
Nathaniel
The thing about ambition is that it can’t be stopped, measured, or contained.
There’s always something to do and a power to pursue. No matter which direction I take, there’s a goal to reach and a situation to conquer. However, ambition can’t be blind or else it’ll become destructive.
I’m currently toying with that line.
The need for more and the fear of less.
The constant pulses of energy and the downfall of the subsequent emptiness.
Truth remains, ambition is my driving force, and yet I still have no clue how I ended up standing on its edge, staring into a dark, foggy abyss.
Its smoky tendrils swirl around me, waiting to drag me under. This isn’t the first time I’ve stared into that abyss and it’s stared back. Whenever I’m at a crossroads, I’m reminded of how I ended up here.
I’m reminded of my “privileged” upbringing and all the shackles that came with it. Isn’t it said that no worthwhile benefits come without sacrifices?
Still, this isn’t the time to have such images or thoughts. After all, this is supposed to be a cheerful occasion. The keyword being supposed.
Coming to my friend’s place to celebrate his daughter’s eighteenth birthday is the last thing I wanted to do. Not only do I have countless case files sitting on my desk, but I also have a structural planning meeting at the firm. However, if I told my best friend/partner that I prefer the firm over attending his little princess’s birthday, he’d have my balls on a platter. The fact that it’s also his firm means nothing on the sacred day of her birthday.
Fifteen minutes. I tell myself as I step out of my car and button my jacket. I will only stay around for that amount of time and then make up an excuse to leave.
My partner inherited his mansion from his father after he kicked his “evil” stepmom out with all sorts of legal suits. I’ve never seen the appeal of this ancient property. Yes, it’s vast and has two pools, but he spent a fortune to renovate it and bring it to its current shape.
The house is white with a prim and proper porch that’s decorated with colorful exotic plants and extends to the large garden where the birthday party is being held.
There’s a long table near the pool that’s surrounded by countless people. Some of them are partners and associates from our firm. They’re all over the occasion, not missing a chance to kiss Kingsley’s ass.
The man himself, the rogue bastard—whom I often bloodied my knuckles fighting when we were in high school—steps out of the house, wheeling a huge pink cake that’s almost taller than he is, and when he starts singing Happy Birthday, everyone else joins in.
I stop near the house’s entrance, waiting for the whole charade to end. Yes, I came to the fucking birthday, but that doesn’t mean I’ll enjoy the happy-go-lucky crowd.
Happiness isn’t my scene.
Neither are birthdays. Not when mine was supposed to be a funeral.
Gwyneth, Kingsley’s only daughter, grins wide as tears gather in her lids and she quickly wipes them away with the backs of her hands. She has a soft smile that’s nothing like her father’s—in fact, she barely resembles him. His hair is dark, hers is auburn with streaks of lighter strands. His eyes are blue-gray, hers have a rare heterochromia, where the insides are green and the outsides are a mixture of blue and gray.