Lessons in Touch (Dark Desires #3)

Chapter 1

Rose

I am adopted.

The truth came when I was sixteen. Even now, seven years later, I remember exactly how it felt—like everything I thought I knew about myself had shifted in a single second.

Not only that. My biological family is the Devereauxs—one of the most powerful billionaire dynasties in America.

Billionaires.

It still feels like a story written for someone else, or a movie I somehow wandered into.

I’m twenty-three now. Graduated three months ago, in June, though it still feels like yesterday. The gray London sky matches the feeling in my chest—relief, yes. No more exams. No more nights spent trying to finish a paper at 3 a.m.

But sadness comes with it, too. I miss my friends. I miss knowing what comes next. And beneath all that, excitement flickers. Tonight, I’m flying to New York to start a life I can’t fully comprehend.

I’m Rose Devereaux.

I’ve carried this name since the day when my parents sat me down and told me who I really was. What I didn’t fully grasp back then was the scale of it—being the rightful heir to one of the most powerful fortunes in the world.

The Devereaux legacy, steeped in wealth and whispered scandal, has lingered in the background of my life for over seven years now. But I kept living my life here in London, far from the world I was born into.

Now, with graduation behind me, it’s time to step out of the shadows and claim what’s mine.

I pull my coat tighter and walk past groups of people huddled under their umbrellas. Voices blur behind me as I head for the subway. There’s water in my shoes and it makes me cold, but I don’t care—my mind is fixed on what comes next. My mother says it isn’t just money.

It’s a new life that feels too big to step into. I’ve always been the quiet type. Better with books than with people. More comfortable reading poetry than playing games of power. The Devereaux world feels overwhelming—like a storm they don’t teach you to survive.

The subway takes me back to our small flat in the Bethnal Green neighborhood. Inside, the air smells like tea and Mum’s lavender soap. It’s warm and comforting after the cold. I find my parents at the kitchen table.

Dad gestures to a chair. His hands are rough from years of work.

“Rose, love, sit. Big day, isn’t it?”

I set my bag down. My chest tightens as I join them.

“It’s surreal,” I say, feeling my voice getting unsteady. “Last class done, and now… New York.”

Mum pours tea for all of us. Her eyes shine with tears she’s trying to hold back. She manages a smile, though her voice trembles when she speaks.

“We’re so proud of you, Rose. University is finished, and now you’re heading to the other side of the world. Your birth family is waiting.”

I lift the cup, take a sip, and try to steady my breath.

“Do you think I can do this? They’re one of the richest families in the world. And me… I’m just me.”

I look around at the familiar room—the wallpaper peeling slightly in places, but the pattern is one I’ve always loved; the mugs chipped, but they’re ours, and I’ve known them all my life.

Our life here is simple. But it’s full of happiness.

Dad laughs and says, the smile still lingering on his face, “You’re more than enough, Rose. You’re clever, kind, and stronger than you think. They’ll see it, just like we do.”

Mum takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“When we told you the truth, you faced it bravely. Scared, yes, but you kept going. This is your moment, love.”

“I still can’t believe that I’m taking a private jet to New York. It feels surreal.”

“That’s the Devereaux way, I suppose,” Dad says, and winks. “Fancy cars, private jets. Just don’t forget your old mum and dad, right?”

“As if I could,” I say, and my thoughts drift to the life that’s waiting.

I’m going to study at the Wolfswood Institute—set up by my birth relatives as a condition for accessing the inheritance. It’s a private university where I’ll be taught everything connected to that world: finance, business, marketing, etiquette, and even the history of the Devereaux family.

“What if I don’t fit in? That Wolfswood sounds overwhelming,” I ask, looking at both of them.

Dad leans forward, the way he always does when I need him.

“You will, Rose. You’re brilliant—you always have been. They might have money, but you’ve got something better. You’ve got heart. And a sharp mind to go with it.”

I smile. His faith in me never wavers.

Mum looks at me with an expression full of warmth.

“You’ve never walked away from a challenge,” she says. “This is your birthright, Rose. And Wolfswood is how you step into it.”

I nod, picturing the shadowed halls of the institute’s library, where I’ll be learning the inner workings of the Devereaux empire—real estate, business management, logistics, and, above all, the scandals threaded through its history.

“Finance and marketing, I get, but etiquette? It’s like they expect me to become someone else.”

“Not someone else,” Dad says. “Just a fancier version of you. You’ll learn how to navigate their boardrooms, charm their clients, all while staying our Rose.”

I laugh. The thought of me in a conference room is both thrilling and scary.

“I hope so. The Devereaux history sounds intense—murders, betrayals, and all that. I can’t believe that’s what I’m walking into, let alone that I’ll be running their companies one day.”

Mum’s eyes soften, but I can see that deep inside she’s as worried as I am.

“It’s a lot, but you’re not alone. The lawyer said that you can always contact your… brothers. Victor and Henry. They will guide you if you need it. Remember that you are family, after all.”

My heart lifts at their names. The Devereaux siblings, who found me. “That’s true. Still, graduating from Wolfswood feels like a test. If I fail, I lose everything.”

“You won’t fail,” Dad says firmly. “You aced university, didn’t you?

Wolfswood’s just another step, even if it’s a damn fancy one with private jets and all.

And I promise you that, even if you don’t manage to graduate from this Institute thingy, you can always come back to us, Rosie, love.

We will always be your parents, no matter what. ”

“Okay, I’ll do my best. For us. But just imagining those lessons makes me feel like I’m being sent to another planet.”

“And you’ll shine on that planet, Rose. Wolfswood may be the beginning of a new path. But whatever happens, we’re always here for you.”

I hug them, and for a moment, the fear eases. In their arms, everything feels lighter. I’m ready to face what’s ahead—with an open heart and the love they’ve given me.

“Thank you for being with me through all of this. I love you both,” I say, wrapping them in one last hug.

A few moments later, a glossy black car pulls up in front of our building. It looks completely out of place on our modest street.

The driver, silent and sharply dressed, takes me to the airport. We pass the main terminal and keep going, further than I expected. At the far end of the tarmac, behind a security gate, a private jet is waiting.

I stare at it, stunned. I’ve never even been in business class.

And now this.

Inside the jet, everything gleams—cream leather seats, polished gold fixtures, the faint scent of something expensive and clean. A flight attendant greets me by name, smiling like I’m expected, like I belong.

Before takeoff, a table is set in front of me: a crystal flute of champagne, a silver dish of caviar resting on crushed ice, and thin, warm blinis arranged on fine porcelain.

The champagne is cold and dry, and the bubbles hit the back of my throat like something meant to wake me up. I’ve never tasted anything like it.

The plane lifts off, soft as breath, and the ground slips away.

They treat me like royalty.

And somewhere high above the city, I start to wonder what I’ve just stepped into.

The flight passes faster than I expected.

Somewhere after the second glass of champagne, sleep catches up with me. I curl into the wide seat, wrapped in a blanket that smells faintly of lavender and starch.

When I open my eyes, the sky outside is pale and unfamiliar.

We land in New York without a jolt. I don’t even feel the wheels touch the ground.

A car is already waiting at the foot of the stairs. The same driver opens the door without a word.

We move through the city—tall buildings, wide avenues, clean sidewalks. It feels colder here, sharper somehow, even inside the car.

At the hotel, someone else is waiting with a room key and a folder in hand.

They call me Miss Devereaux.

A concierge guides me to a suite. It is, of course, luxurious.

Dark emerald drapes frame the towering windows, a four-poster bed swathed in cotton sheets dominates the bedroom, and roses in a crystal vase fill the air with their heavy sweetness.

This is the Devereaux world, lavish and daunting—a stark shift from our flat’s worn comforts.

There is an envelope on the desk, sealed with wax. My name is written on it. I open it with shaking hands, and I read the letter from Mr. Harrow, the family lawyer.

Miss Devereaux,

Welcome to New York. As agreed, you will receive your inheritance upon completing your training at Wolfswood Institute.

It is imperative that you uphold the reputation of the Devereaux family. I cannot stress this enough: do not, under any circumstances, bring shame or scandal to the name you now carry.

Meet the required standard, and the inheritance will be released to you.

“The required standard...”

The phrase circles in my mind, and my heart starts pounding.

I move through the suite, letting my hand pass over the cold marble, the silk pillows, the glossy wood.

The sheer luxury makes me light-headed.

How do I convince my body—and whatever part of me still resists—that this is my life now?

In the bathroom, I run a bath and let the tub fill with steaming water. A small bottle of patchouli oil waits on the counter; I add a few drops, and the scent rises slowly. I undress and step in, the heat wrapping around me. My body softens, and my thoughts begin to drift.

Everything is new, and the sensation is unlike anything I’ve known. Joy flickers at the edges, but it’s threaded with fear that lingers somewhere in the background. Excitement moves through me too, quick and electric, like I’m standing on the edge of something vast.

I sink deeper into the water, trying to hold it all—what I’ve left behind, what’s coming, and the strange stillness in between.

The water wraps around me. I close my eyes, lathering myself. My hand slides between my thighs, goes down—and it’s just what I need right now. My clit responds immediately, and I can feel the pleasure radiating through my body.

I stroke myself slowly. My fingers glide over my clit, circling faster. I pinch one of my nipples with my free hand and pull it slightly, creating even more pleasure.

I spread my legs wider, and the sharp pleasure spikes through me.

Slowly, I insert my fingers into my pussy, finding the sweet spot and teasing it.

I sink a little deeper into the warm water, allowing it to caress my skin.

The sweet smell of the bath oil is intoxicating. I drift on the feeling of my pleasure.

My fingers plunge into my pussy harder, two at first, then three. My thumb rubs my clit in steady circles. I moan, and my fingers pump faster.

My clit pulses under my fingers, my pussy tightens, and I cum hard.

My squirt is lost in the warmth of the bath water, and my cries echo against the marble bathroom walls.

Waves of pleasure crash through me. My pussy throbs with aftershocks, my fingers are slowing, and I sink deep into the water, fearing, but at the same time longing for Wolfswood, where new life and power await.

Tomorrow, I’ll take my rightful place in the world of wealth, power, and mysteries. I wonder if love will find me there—or if I’ll lose myself in everything that’s about to begin.