Novels by Gem

Brandon’s POVThe first sign that something had shifted was not a threat.It was silence.For almost twelve hours after Cameron replied No to the final warning, there were no anonymous messages, no distorted calls, no veiled intimidation disguised as institutional language. The quiet felt intentional, like a vacuum forming before pressure reversed direction.Silence from an opponent does not mean retreat.It means recalibration.Cameron noticed it too, though he did not say so immediately. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of my apartment, laptop open, the financial document still illuminated on the screen. He had mapped the highlighted transfers into a visual chain, connecting dates, authorization codes, and administrative accounts.“They rerouted discretionary funds through layered approvals,” he said finally. “Small enough increments to avoid automatic flagging.”“Where did it end,” I asked.He zoomed in.“Consulting contracts.”“For what.”“No listed deliverables.”I leaned

Cameron’s POVThe conduct hearing was scheduled for 9:00 a.m., which was deliberate because mornings create an illusion of clarity and order, as though decisions made under fluorescent lighting and formal language cannot possibly be distorted by motive.Brandon walked beside me toward the administrative building, his stride even, his shoulder brushing mine occasionally in quiet reassurance. He had not said much since the photo was sent the night before, but his silence was not fear. It was focus.“They will try to provoke,” he said calmly as we reached the steps.“Yes.”“Do not react to tone.”“I will not.”“And if they redirect to you personally.”“I will redirect to documentation.”He nodded once. That was enough.Inside, the room was already prepared. A long table. Recording equipment. Three board members present, including Professor Okoye. Dean Halvorsen was there as well, though not seated at the center this time.That detail mattered.A neutral moderator began the proceedings fo

Brandon’s POVThe external inquiry request went live at 8:03 a.m.Cameron did not hesitate when he pressed send. He had drafted the formal petition the night before with the kind of precision that turns emotion into structure. It was addressed to the university’s accreditation body, the academic ethics council, and three external oversight organizations that specialized in institutional transparency. Every claim was documented. Every timestamp cross-referenced. Every accusation framed as a request for independent verification rather than outrage.It was devastatingly professional.When the confirmation receipt appeared in his inbox, he exhaled once, slowly.“That is it,” I said quietly.“Yes,” he replied.There was no drama in the moment. No music swelling in the background. Just the soft hum of his laptop fan and the weight of knowing we had forced this beyond campus containment.My phone buzzed.Then his did.Then mine again.Emails.Notifications.The dean’s office had responded f

Brandon’s POVThe external inquiry request went live at 8:03 a.m.Cameron did not hesitate when he pressed send. He had drafted the formal petition the night before with the kind of precision that turns emotion into structure. It was addressed to the university’s accreditation body, the academic ethics council, and three external oversight organizations that specialized in institutional transparency. Every claim was documented. Every timestamp cross-referenced. Every accusation framed as a request for independent verification rather than outrage.It was devastatingly professional.When the confirmation receipt appeared in his inbox, he exhaled once, slowly.“That is it,” I said quietly.“Yes,” he replied.There was no drama in the moment. No music swelling in the background. Just the soft hum of his laptop fan and the weight of knowing we had forced this beyond campus containment.My phone buzzed.Then his did.Then mine again.Emails.Notifications.The dean’s office had responded fa

Cameron’s POVDean Halvorsen did not hurry as he crossed the quad, and that detail unsettled me more than if he had rushed toward us in visible anger, because controlled movement in a public crisis signals calculation rather than panic. The livestream was still running in Brandon’s hand, and the small red indicator in the corner of the screen felt like both a shield and a target as students gathered in a widening circle around us.“End it,” Halvorsen said calmly when he reached us, his voice measured and amplified only by the silence of the crowd.“No,” Brandon replied evenly. “Transparency was requested.”Halvorsen’s eyes flicked briefly toward the phone and then back to us. “This is not how institutional processes function.”“With respect,” I said, keeping my tone steady and formal, “institutional processes were already compromised.”A ripple moved through the students standing nearby. I could feel attention sharpening, focusing, dividing.Halvorsen clasped his hands behind his back

Brandon’s POVI have never liked waiting, especially not the kind of waiting where you know something is moving against you but you cannot see the shape of it yet, because that kind of silence feels artificial and heavy and almost staged, like the calm right before a building alarm goes off and everyone pretends they are not already bracing for the sound.Cameron was too calm.That was what unsettled me the most.He sat across from me in the engineering lab, laptop open, screen reflecting in his eyes like cold light off glass, and he looked composed in a way that meant he was five steps ahead in his head and building contingency plans I could not even see yet.“You are overclocking your brain again,” I said quietly, leaning back in the chair but keeping my voice low enough that the students around us could not hear.“I am reallocating strategy,” he replied without looking up, which was his version of admitting I was right but refusing to stop.“You have not eaten,” I continued, becau

Epilogue Brandon’s POV(The Wedding)The sun had never looked this soft before. It wasn’t harsh or blinding — just golden, like it knew today wasn’t meant for anything loud. The breeze carried the scent of roses and vanilla, and somewhere behind me, Erica was quietly tearing up even though she’d sworn she wouldn’t.I stood there at the altar, palms damp, heart hammering like it was trying to break free from my chest.Cameron was late. Not by much, but just enough to make my nerves short-circuit.Hilda leaned in from her seat, grinning. “Relax, pretty boy. He’s coming. You know he wouldn’t miss this.”I tried to smile, but my voice came out shaky. “If he doesn’t show, I’m marrying you instead.”Erica snorted, resting her head on Hilda’s shoulder. “Sorry, babe. She’s taken.”And right then, I saw him.Cameron walked out from the garden path, wearing a light gray suit that fit him perfectly. His hair was a little messy, like he’d tried to fix it and gave up halfway, and the sunlight cau

Cameron’s POVIt had been two weeks since everything went down. Two weeks since Drake was finally locked up and life started to feel… breathable again.The world had quieted. Brandon was smiling more, laughing again, though I could still see the shadow behind his eyes sometimes — the kind you only get after surviving something too heavy for your heart.But tonight, I wanted to change that.I’d spent the entire day planning. Nothing fancy, nothing dramatic — just something us. Because the first time I’d proposed… everything around it got poisoned. Drake had twisted it, used it. This time, I wanted it to be ours again.No cameras. No manipulation. Just me and him.The sky was painted in warm orange streaks when I parked outside the old lakeside park. Brandon loved this place. It was where we’d had our first fight and our first real “I love you.” The water shimmered like melted gold, the air calm except for the rustle of the trees.He climbed out of the car, squinting at the sunset. “You

Brandon POVIt’s crazy how fast things can change.One week ago, our lives were chaos — flashing sirens, screaming, and Drake’s twisted smirk burned into my memory. Now? The house was quiet again. Peaceful, even. My parents were back to drinking morning coffee on the porch, pretending like their son hadn’t just been caught in a nightmare.And Cameron… he was still healing.Every morning he’d walk into class wearing that same navy hoodie, the one with the tiny tear on the sleeve. He’d pretend he was fine, answer questions like nothing happened, but I could tell. The way his fingers tapped against his notebook. The way he sometimes zoned out mid-conversation. The way he looked at the window like he was waiting for something bad to happen again.I got it.Because I was waiting too.But life didn’t stop. Exams were back. Assignments stacked up again. Everyone else had already moved on — except us.Friday came, and I found Cameron sitting at the bleachers behind the school gym. His hoodie

Cameron POVEverything was noise and motion.The alarm screamed through the house, echoing off the walls and into my skull. My pulse hammered in time with it. Brandon was still grappling with Drake, both of them sliding across the floor, the rain slamming harder against the windows like it was trying to drown out the chaos inside.“Bran—get back!” I shouted, but he didn’t. He never did when it came to protecting me.The blinking light under the table flashed faster. Red. Urgent.I dropped to my knees, ripping away the tablecloth, and froze. A crudely wired device sat on the floor, timer flickering in uneven numbers. My stomach twisted. “He set a bomb.”Drake laughed from across the room, voice hoarse but still mocking. “Told you I’d make you choose.”Brandon slammed him into the ground again, pinning his arm. “You’re done, Drake! You hear me?”Drake grinned through split lips. “Not yet.”My hands shook as I studied the wires. I didn’t know how to defuse bombs—I wasn’t some movie hero—

Brandon’s POVThe night felt heavier than usual. Every street we passed on the drive home looked blurred through the rain, like the whole city was trying to wash itself clean but couldn’t. Cameron hadn’t said a word the entire ride. His hands stayed clenched on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road like if he blinked, everything would fall apart.I wanted to say something—anything—to make it better. But what do you say after your stepbrother basically threatens your life, vanishes, and calls the cops on you? There wasn’t a guidebook for that.“Cam,” I said softly. “You’re shaking.”He didn’t answer. Just kept driving, headlights slicing through the mist. “I just want to get home,” he muttered finally. “Just home.”So I didn’t push. I let him have the silence.When we finally pulled up to my house, everything felt… off. The porch light was on, but the front door was wide open, creaking slightly in the wind. That was the first sign. The second was the stillness—the kind that didn’t

Brandon’s POV)The air was cold enough to bite. I could see my breath fog up the car window as Cameron killed the engine, his jaw locked tight like he was about to walk into a war. The streetlights buzzed above us, throwing pale light over puddles and cracked pavement. Somewhere in the distance, thunder grumbled like a warning.I didn’t say anything at first. My fingers were gripping the seatbelt too tight, like if I let go, I might lose it. The message Drake had sent earlier still burned in my head — ONE HOUR. OR I COME TO YOU. It didn’t sound like a bluff.“So this is it?” I finally said, my voice coming out rougher than I meant. “We’re just… going in?”Cameron didn’t look at me. His eyes were glued to the rearview mirror, scanning the shadows. “We’re not running anymore.”I swallowed. “Cam, this isn’t like before. You said he was dangerous—”“I know,” he snapped, too fast. Then softer, “I know. But he’s not going to stop. If we wait, he’ll find us anyway.”I studied him. His knuckl