Novels by Pearl's pen

Gregory’s POVGregory’s smile lingered even as the string quartet swelled into a waltz across the ballroom. He had smiled before, of course—boardroom victories, mergers crushed beneath his hand—but this one felt different. Quieter. Deeper.The girl at the table hadn’t the faintest idea of the storm that had just shifted her way.Gregory turned away deliberately, hiding his satisfaction from the circling crowd of donors who craved a nod, a glance, a word of approval. They did not matter tonight. He moved with a precision born of decades in power, cane tapping lightly against marble as though punctuating his thoughts.She could carry it. The Blackwood name. The Blackwood heir.It wasn’t love. Love was a frivolous thing, a weak man’s indulgence. What Gregory saw in her was far more valuable: dignity in simplicity, strength without vanity, a woman who would not break under the crushing weight of expectation.He reached the bar. A glass of champagne was pressed into his hand before he even

Gregory's POV The ballroom glittered with decorations and chandeliers that dropped with crystal and wealth. It was the kind of event where champagne flowed like water and the smile of everyone present hid an agenda. Gregory stood at the edge of the ballroom, came in hand, eyes scanning the polished and bright faces around. He'd spent a lifetime building an empire, navigating men who smiled with knives hidden behind them. Tonight was no different, beautiful women and men covering up with philanthropy but wrapped in silk and suit of deceit. Gregory's thoughts spiralled around his conversation with Damian. An heir. A secured bloodline. His son thought he could defy him, thought he could ignore his legacy for the sake of stubborn pride. Gregory's jaw tightened at the thought of Damian's icy resistance. The boy has everything but sense, which makes Gregory wonder where he got his senselessness from. He doesn't understand that love is weakness and only lineage sur

Damian's POV Vanessa's heels clicked on the marble floor as she entered, heads up high and confidence oozing out of her like she owned the place. She didn't wait for an invitation, she carried herself with the boldness of a woman who has absolutely nothing to lose, her hips swaying effortlessly with practiced precision, her perfume filling the air, sweet but sharp, an evidence of her presence. Damian set his glass on the table, watching her every step like a predator does its prey. He wasn't surprised she had come back. Vanessa was like fire, always hungry, always consuming, never satisfied. She dropped her coat over the arm of his sofa, standing there in silk that clung to her curves. “No reply?” she asked. “Rough night?” she inquired again. Damian's eyes narrowed. " You should have gone home.”Vanessa smirked, unbothered. “Maybe I don't like being dismissed so easily.” She walked closer, her fingers trailing the edge of the bar, brushing past the glass Damian had abandoned on th

Damian sat in silence, the weight of his father's ultimatum pressing against his chest like iron shackles. The penthouse was dark except from the reflection from the nearby city lights entering through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Everything seemed perfect, but Damian knows better.He stood at the bar, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. His reflection stared back at him from the window, his cold eyes enough to freeze the night.No heir. No inheritance. His father's words had not left him since the meeting. They echoed louder than the noise from the city traffic. Gregory didn't care and is not requesting for marriage. He didn't care about love. All he wanted was a child to uphold the name and the legacy. Damian's hand tightening around the cup, veins popping out. A child wasn't an heir, a child was innocence. A child was supposed to be born from love, from softness, from things his world has never given him. He had a flashback of his mother's voice, faint, soft and fu

The Blackwood estate was less a home and more of a monument. Its stone walls, marble floors and private gardens screamed of legacy carved in granite. Damian hated it,every corridor smelled of discipline, of the cold man who had fathered and raised him inside these walls.Gregory Blackwood was waiting on the study. The fire from the furnace burned low, casting shadows across the vast shelves of leather-bound books. His father sat in a high-backed black leather chair, a glass of wine carefully balanced between his veined fingers. Age has not softened him, the lines on his face which had always been there as back as Damian could remember had deepened like cracks in iron, his gray hair treamed with military precision.“You came.’’ Gregory said without giving Damian a glance, his voice even, measured. “Good.”Damian loosened his tie as he stepped farther into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Your message wasn't exactly optional.”Gregory lifted his gaze from the book he was reading

“You'll never carry my heir.” Damian said, with all seriousness and no hint of play or joke. He stood before the huge window, hands tucked in his pockets, shoulders squared inside a neatly tailored suit. The city looked busy and colorful, but his eyes? They were colder than the skyline. Gray and glacial, they fixed on the glass as if New York was an opponent he refused to bow to. On the sofa, Vanessa Hart froze. Her bright red painted lips parted, just enough to betray the surprise. She had come here, certain of her ability, certain that her looks, her curves and confidence were things he had never resisted and wouldn't resist. But his words, sharp, deliberate, hurtful. Her lashes lowered and her face fell, disappointment flickered across her face, hiding her wounded pride. When she lifted them again, her eyes glittered with determination and something harder. A slow smile curved her mouth, practiced and dangerous. “Never?” she repeated, her voice husky and shaky. She rose with e