Novels by Chris Muna

It was late afternoon when the sleek black car pulled up outside the quiet house. Katherine stood at the window, her heart clenching the moment she saw who stepped out. Kingsley’s mother. Tall, graceful, dressed in an elegant cream coat, sunglasses shielding her sharp eyes. Two assistants followed behind, one carrying a delicate handbag, the other holding a tablet. Katherine’s pulse spiked. She hadn’t expected this — not today, not like this. She hurried to smooth her hair, pressing her hands to her chest to steady her racing heart as the doorbell rang. Moments later, she opened the door. “Mrs. Adewale,” Katherine whispered softly. Kingsley’s mother removed her sunglasses slowly, her perfectly arched brows lifting slightly. “Katherine.” Her voice was smooth, polite — but cool. “May I come in?” Katherine stepped aside, her throat dry. “Yes, of course.” Inside, the atmosphere was stiff, uncomfortable. Kingsley’s mother moved gracefully through the living room, he

Katherine’s hand hovered over the paper, the pen trembling between her fingers. She stared down at the divorce papers — the final, sharp end to everything they had once built. Her breath came shaky. Her chest tightened. And then — Her hand froze. Slowly, she pulled the pen back and let it fall onto the table with a soft clink. Kingsley’s head shot up from where he sat, his eyes narrowing. “Katherine?” She pressed her hands hard against her face, letting out a broken, shaky breath. “I… I can’t,” she whispered. “What do you mean you can’t?” Kingsley’s voice tightened. “You promised, Katherine. You said if I told you everything — if I answered your questions — you’d sign.” Katherine let her hands drop, her tear-streaked face lifting to meet his. Her eyes were raw, pained, full of a storm he hadn’t expected. “Yeah,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “And you promised me forever.” Kingsley flinched, just slightly. “You promised me,” Katherine went on, her voi

The night after the proposal, Kingsley sat alone in his study, staring into the fireplace. The flames danced quietly, casting golden light across the room, but his mind was racing too fast to notice. His fingers drummed nervously on the armrest. His heart pounded, not with excitement this time — but with dread. He had to tell them. He had to tell his parents. For a long moment, he sat frozen, trying to gather the right words, the right explanations. And then — with a deep, shaky breath — he stood, smoothing a hand down his shirt and heading toward the grand, double doors at the end of the hall. Behind those doors, he knew, his parents were waiting. The family’s kitchen was nothing like a normal home kitchen. It was enormous — polished marble counters, gleaming brass fixtures, long wooden shelves filled with expensive spices and rare ingredients. Chefs usually worked here during the day, preparing elaborate meals for the family and guests. But tonight, the room was empty

After that night — after that kiss — things didn’t immediately return to how they had been before. Katherine was cautious. She didn’t throw herself back into Kingsley’s arms without hesitation. And Kingsley — well, Kingsley was patient. For the first time in a long time, he understood that rushing her, or trying to force things, would only push her away. So they started slowly. At first, it was just quiet messages. A text here. A check-in there. Kingsley would send a short, careful note: How’s your day going? or Did you eat today? or I’m thinking about you. Katherine would reply — sometimes quickly, sometimes after hours — her responses simple but warm. A few days later, Kingsley sent a car. Come out for coffee with me, he’d texted. Katherine hesitated — but after a long, thoughtful pause, she finally texted back: Okay. The car pulled up outside her apartment, sleek and black, the chauffeur politely opening the door for her. Katherine felt her heart flutter nervously a

Katherine stood framed in the doorway, dressed casually, her hair slightly messy, her eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, she didn’t speak — she just stared at him, as if trying to process the fact that he was really standing there. Kingsley’s gaze swept over her, drinking her in like a man starved. His eyes locked onto hers — those beautiful, striking eyes that had haunted his dreams for months. Aqua blue. Clear, deep, endless. The kind of eyes that, long ago, had first reminded him of Beth — but now, standing here, looking into Katherine’s face, he realized they had become so much more than that. These weren’t Beth’s eyes. These were Katherine’s. And he loved them. He loved the way they softened when she smiled, the way they sharpened when she was angry, the way they seemed to see straight through all his defenses, all his walls. His throat tightened painfully. “Katherine,” he breathed. For a long moment, they just stood there, staring at each other. Neither spoke

The boardroom buzzed with tension. Kingsley stood at the head of the long polished table, twenty faces staring at him — some skeptical, some angry, some calculating. Kingsley sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his fingers steepled under his chin, his sharp blue eyes flicking over the faces of the board members. To his left, Michael Rowe — his father — sat with his arms crossed, jaw tight. To his right, Anna Rowe watched him anxiously, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Across the table, the board members whispered among themselves. Men and women in expensive suits, some old, some young, all staring at Kingsley with thinly veiled doubt. “Let’s begin,” Kingsley said, his voice steady. For a moment, there was silence. Then, one of the senior board members — an older man with silver hair and sharp glasses — leaned forward. “Mr. Rowe,” he began carefully, “you understand the situation you’ve put us in.” Kingsley gave a slight nod. “I do.” “The media fallout f