Novels by Circeleari

"You need to leave."My voice comes out flat, stripped of anything resembling negotiation. I'm tired. So fucking tired of this day, this conversation, the weight of his question still hanging in the air like smoke I can't wave away.Luke finally sets the tea mugs down on the coffee table—untouched, cold, pointless—and the ceramic hits wood too hard. The sound makes me flinch. "She's right," he says, stepping forward. "You should go."I watch him try to be brave, watch him close half the distance between himself and Dante before his jaw goes tight and his feet stop moving. He's not short, but Dante makes him look it. Makes him look young and outmatched and painfully, obviously aware that if this turned physical, he wouldn't stand a chance.Dante doesn't move. Doesn't even blink."I don't want to leave," he says.I exhale through my nose, sharp and exasperated. "Then what the hell do you want?"He looks away. Actually looks away, and something about that movement—the way his shoulders s

Show more7:27 AMThe word "mommy" is still hanging in the air like a grenade with its pin pulled when Dante's eyebrow does this slow, deliberate arch that makes me want to punch him in his stupidly handsome face."Mom, huh?" His voice is silk and steel, and I hate how it makes my skin prickle. "Funny. Earlier he was your nephew."My jaw clenches so hard I might crack a molar. "I don't owe you explanations about my personal life.""Your personal life?" He steps closer, and I instinctively back up against the doorframe. Big mistake. Now he's looming, and he's good at looming. "You mean the personal life where you're hiding a kid? That seems like information an employer might want to know.""You're my boss, not my keeper." The words come out sharper than I intend, but I'm running on pure panic right now. Daxton is inside. Dante is outside. This is literally my nightmare scenario, except everyone's still wearing clothes, so I guess it could be worse. "We're not close. We're not friends. Yo

I don’t answer him.I can’t.Dante’s question hangs in the air, neat and polite and sharp enough to slice skin. Who’s the kid?Not loud. Not rushed. Like he’s asking for the time.Daxton shifts in my arms, his weight heavy and warm against my chest. He smells faintly of medicine and sweat and the cheap grape syrup I bribed him with earlier. My grip tightens without permission, my forearm locking under his thighs, my other hand flattening between his shoulder blades.My body already knows what my brain hasn’t caught up to yet—run, turn, disappear.I angle my shoulder away from Dante, planting my feet wide on the cracked concrete of the walkway. The porch light hums above us, throwing a sick yellow glow over everything. The world feels too open. Too visible. Windows. Cars. Lawns trimmed within an inch of their lives.Nowhere to hide.“Eris?”Luke’s voice comes from behind me, close. Too close. I hadn’t heard him open the door. Hadn’t heard his steps on the porch.My stomach drops.He so

The taxi keeps rolling, tires hissing over wet pavement, and I keep watching the side mirror like it’s going to blink back at me.Aside from the fact that I’ve been too engrossed on thinking what to do when I arrive back in the house later, one of the thing that’s been bothering me . . . is that fucking cab behind us.It’s still there.The yellow cab behind us hasn’t peeled off once. Not at the last light. Not when we turned off the main road. Not even when the traffic thinned out and there were a dozen different streets it could’ve taken.My jaw tightens.I lean forward slightly between the seats. “Hey,” I say, keeping my voice casual even though my pulse is starting to tick faster. “Can I ask you something?”The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. Late forties, tired eyes, Seahawks cap pulled low. “Sure.”“That cab behind us,” I say, nodding subtly. “The one that’s been there since the airport. You notice it?”He looks again, longer this time. Shrugs. “Yeah. I noticed.”“An

The wheels hit the runway with a hard jolt, and the cabin exhales around me. The seatbelt sign clicks off. People stand immediately, crowding the aisle, dragging bags out of overhead bins like their lives depend on it.I don’t look at Dante.I don’t give him anything.I grab my bag, shrug my coat on, and stand the second there’s room. My body is already moving, already gone. My head is not here. It’s in a hospital room three thousand miles away, with white walls and bad lighting and a child who looked too small for the bed he was lying in.Daxton’s face flashes behind my eyes. My son being pale. Lips a little too dry. The way his fingers kept curling into the blanket on the video call, as though he was holding onto something that wasn’t there.Lucas saying, ‘I don’t know what’s wrong, Eris. I swear I’m doing everything right.’ before the call ended.Dante is behind me. I can feel him without looking. Too close. Too calm. It’s as if he isn’t bothered by the fact that I didn’t ask him t

I don’t sleep.I lie on top of the sheets, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling as if it’s going to answer me if I glare at it long enough. The lights are off, but the room never really gets dark. There’s always something humming. A low electrical whine in the walls. A security light outside the window that flickers every few seconds.I count the flickers.One.Two.Three.By the time my heart stops racing, the sun is already bleeding through the curtains. I sit up slowly, head pounding. My phone buzzes on the nightstand.Jackass boss: Car’s ready.Of course it is. How is he being ahead of me as if he’s supposed to?I don’t reply as I shove my feet into my shoes and grab my jacket off the rack. My hands shake as I zip it up. I tell myself it’s from lack of sleep and maybe not from the memory of his voice last night or definitely not from the way he looked at me when he said you won’t.Why is he adamant on letting em stay here anyway?I step out into the hallway. And for the lov e of

The fireworks are still cracking in the sky behind me, but the world’s gone dim.It’s as someone shoved me out of the spotlight mid-scene. And handed Irene the mic.She stumbles closer, all dainty steps and calculated breathlessness, clutching her phone like it’s her grandma’s ashes.“I was feeling so much better . . . and I didn’t want to be left behind.”She says it softly, a small smile, big eyes. Straight to Konstantin as her life support. Leonid stiffens at my side. I feel his little hand tighten around mine. Not Konstantin’s.Mine.He glares at her like a pissed-off cat. “I thought you were dying earlier.”I nearly choke on a laugh, but bite it back. Irene laughs it off. A breathy, helpless thing. “I just needed rest . . . but I didn’t want to miss out. We’re family, right?”Sure. Family.The kind that poisons your tea and smiles while you drink it.Konstantin doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move either. Which is worse, somehow.Because Irene takes that as a yes and latches on

The car ride feels like getting shoved between a live wire and a ticking time bomb. Leonid’s on my left, fidgeting like he’s got caffeine for blood.Konstantin’s on my right, legs spread, arms crossed, brooding like he’s plotting world domination—or someone’s death. Probably mine.I reach for the window latch just to breathe, because the tension in here is thick enough to bottle and sell as an aphrodisiac to desperate housewives. As I lean slightly, my arm brushes his. Hard. Muscle and heat and everything I shouldn’t be thinking about.His voice comes low. Mocking. Dangerous. “You that desperate to breathe near me, zayka?”I freeze. Of fucking course. Before I can bite out a retort, a lollipop hits his shoulder. Leonid doesn’t even blink. “Stop flirting with her, old man.” I snort so hard I choke on my own spit.Konstantin turns slowly, red eyes narrowing on his brat of a cousin like he’s one sarcastic comment away from putting him up for adoption. “Say that again,” he says.Leonid gr

I should’ve drowned myself in the bathtub the moment the words “trio date” left my mouth.Because now, I’m standing in front of the damn closet, regretting everything about my life, my choices, and most of all, this stupid idea.I mutter curses under my breath as I dig through the mess of silk and lace in my section of the closet, trying to find a dress that doesn’t scream “please choke me with daddy’s money” or “take me hostage.” Something nice. Something normal. Something that’ll make me blend in while being third-wheeled by a bratty child and my emotionally constipated captor-husband.And just when I think I’ll finally get three minutes of peace, I hear his voice.“I need to grab a suit.”Konstantin’s tone is dry. Casual. As if he hasn’t avoided stepping foot in this room for weeks like the fucking plague.I whip around. “You have another goddamn closet. Use that.”He shrugs, already walking in like this is his space. Like he didn’t say on our honeymoon night that he couldn’t stoma

The lounge smells like chlorine and sugar. Leonid’s curled up on the far end of the long cream couch, his stupid tablet on his lap, and for once, he’s not scowling at me like I just kicked his puppy. I sit on the opposite end, legs tucked under me, a little awkward.The sun from the giant glass doors spills across the marble floor and catches in his dark hair. We’ve been here the entire afternoon. God, the things I do for this kid already. He keeps pretending he’s not looking at me. But he is. Every few seconds, his eyes flick up from his screen and shoot me a weird little glare that isn’t really a glare.“What?” I mutter, quirking a brow. His lips purse.“You don’t sit like a normal adult.”Okay. That’s . . . new.“Sorry,” I say with a snort, stretching one leg out and resting my arm over the back of the couch. “Is there a formal seating posture you’re expecting from your soon-to-be pool buddy?”Leonid’s head jerks up. “I didn’t say you could swim with me.”“You didn’t not say it,” I

I’m in Konstantin’s office in a heartbeat. I don’t know why I did that. Maybe I just wanna know why. Fuck, what do I even came here for? I slam his fucking desk. Papers, folders, a pen cup—everything jumps.“Was it because of the allergy?” I snap, eyes drilling into the back of Konstantin’s head as he types something on his laptop though I didn’t just barge in like a lunatic. “The reason you told me to ‘get the fuck away’? Was it because Irene’s skin condition is contagious?”He doesn’t flinch. Not even a twitch. He just closes the damn laptop with a slow, deliberate motion that pisses me off more than if he had just screamed at me. Then, he leans back in his chair, fingers steepled, and looks at me as though I’m a fucking puzzle he already knows how to solve. His lips twitch into a smirk.“Why? Did that get you wet, kotyonok?” His red eyes trail down slowly, unapologetically. “Knowing I was protecting your delicate little skin?”I blink. Blink. What the actual fuck? I mean, I stormed

The hallway’s silent when I pass through it. Not that it’s unusual—this place is built like a fucking mausoleum, all polished floors and pristine chandeliers, so quiet you can hear your own regrets echo off the goddamn marble.I don’t bother going back to the office tonight. Carlos didn’t say anything, but I know he’s starting to notice how often I work overtime. It's not as though I enjoy swimming in spreadsheets for fun, but . . . it’s easier than going back to a cold room where a certain red-eyed psychopath sometimes sleeps.I head straight to our bedroom. I use that word lightly. It's more his territory than mine, like a cage I’m allowed to dress pretty in. He’s not there. Of course he’s not.I stare at the empty side of the bed—the one I don’t touch, don’t breathe near, don’t even let the blankets wrinkle toward. Still perfectly made, as no one even exists on that side. He’s probably still with her. Irene.My throat tightens. It shouldn’t sting. Not after everything. Not after th