Novels by Efita

Chloe’S POVLATER THAT NIGHTThe night air wrapped around Chloe like a cold shroud as she sat by the window, knees drawn to her chest, her forehead pressed to the cool glass. Her bedroom—usually her sanctuary—felt like a prison now. A quiet, still, echoing place where memories screamed louder than silence ever could.She hadn’t turned the light on. Couldn’t. The shadows felt safer somehow. More honest.Her mother had fallen asleep hours ago, curled up on the couch downstairs after trying everything—tea, soup, prayer, tears. Chloe hadn’t said much. Just the truth, straight and jagged: I was taken. Nicholas left me there. Adrian is dead. And I’m the reason Isaac isn’t alive.Her mother hadn’t spoken after that. Just held her. Just wept.Now, the house was still, and Chloe was alone. The ache in her muscles from the ropes, the bruises around her wrists, the pounding exhaustion in her skull—none of it compared to the storm inside her chest.Nicholas had looked her in the eye.He had gripp

Chloe’S POVThe bruises on her wrists had faded. The memories hadn’t.Every morning started the same — mechanically. Eyes open. Breathe. Get up. Don’t think. Coffee. Shower. Breathe again.The sun spilled through the kitchen window like it didn’t know what she’d been through. The birds still chirped. The world, oblivious, spun on.But Chloe hadn’t moved.Not really.She’d managed to walk out of that warehouse alive — barefoot, aching, dirty — with blood still ringing in her ears and Adrian’s twisted smile burned into her mind. She had hitchhiked home in silence, sitting in the backseat of a truck that smelled like gasoline and too many cigarettes. The driver hadn’t asked questions. She hadn’t offered answers.When her mother saw her — the torn clothes, the blank eyes, the dried blood on her temple — she hadn’t said anything at first. She just pulled her daughter into her arms and let her sob until her knees gave out.It was the first time Chloe had ever cried like that. For herself. F

CHLOE’s POV The warehouse was thick with the stench of gunpowder, sweat, and blood. But all Chloe could hear was her heartbeat. Loud. Deafening. Then—footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Nicholas. Her eyes locked on him as he crossed the distance between them. His face was unreadable. Blood smeared across his jaw. His knuckles raw. He didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, staring at her like she was the last puzzle piece in a world that no longer made sense. And then—he dropped to his knees. His hands gripped her shoulders—tight, almost painful—but it wasn’t fear that choked her. It was the look in his eyes. Not rage. Not hatred. Grief. He leaned closer, his voice hoarse, one word rasping from his lips like a blade dragged across his throat. “Isaac.” Her breath caught. Her eyes welled up instantly. She knew. The name hit her like a gunshot to the chest. Adrian had said it—a brother for a brother. And now she understood why Nicholas had come, why he looked

Nicholas’s pulse thundered in his ears as the convoy weaved through the streets, engines growling like caged beasts. Rain lashed against the windshield, but his eyes didn’t blink. Couldn’t. Not when the only thing he could see was Chloe’s face.And Adrian Grey’s name etched across her fate.“She’s with him,” Nicholas said tightly, voice like broken glass. “That son of a bitch took her.”Across from him, Luca sat silent, jaw clenched. He knew better than to speak.Nicholas’s grip tightened on the tablet in his lap, the final image of Chloe burned into it—her in the passenger seat of that SUV, head slumped, unconscious.And beside her: Adrian. Calm. Composed. Like this was just another day in the game he never stopped playing.Nicholas hadn’t spoken Isaac’s name in while. Had buried the pain, the rage. But now it was crawling back to the surface like something feral.Adrian Grey. The man who slit his brother’s throat and disappeared.And now he had Chloe.“She’s not just bait,” Nicholas

The door chimed as Chloe stepped out of the café into the crisp morning air, Adrian close behind her like a shadow she couldn’t shake. Everything outside looked the same—cars passing, a cyclist ringing his bell, the faint buzz of city life—but to Chloe, everything felt wrong. It was like walking into a dream she couldn’t wake up from.Her legs felt heavy, trembling with each step. Adrian didn’t touch her, but his presence loomed beside her like a loaded gun cocked and ready. He nodded toward a sleek black car parked just a few feet down the street.“Keep walking,” he said, tone light like they were discussing weather.She didn’t want to. Every part of her body screamed to run, to fight, to cry for help. But her mind flashed to the strangers in her café. The couple by the window. The man who smiled as she handed him his croissant. Adrian wasn’t bluffing. He would kill them without hesitation.Her steps carried her to the car, her breath shallow as he reached past her to open the back d

Isaac’s FuneralThe clouds hung low like a mourning veil, thick and unmoving. Rain hadn’t fallen yet, but the air was wet with grief and the promise of a storm. The cemetery was quiet, the usual noise of life muted by the weight of death. Only the wind moved, slipping through the trees, curling around the gravestones, whispering sorrow.Nicholas stood in front of the casket, hands in his pockets, jaw locked so tightly it ached. His black coat fluttered slightly in the wind, but he didn’t move. He hadn’t spoken a word since he arrived.The priest droned on, voice trembling through prayers and hollow reassurances. Nicholas didn’t hear a single word. His eyes were fixed on the polished mahogany casket before him—Isaac’s final bed.His little brother.Gone.He had imagined many things—arguments, bruises, laughter, Isaac storming out and coming back with that smug grin—but never this. Never a grave. Never silence.The priest said, “May he rest in peace,” and stepped back.Nicholas stepped

The water was hot. Too hot, probably. But Mia didn’t care.She slid deeper into the tub, her knees drawn up, chin resting on them. Steam curled around her, fogging the mirror and softening the sharpness of the world she couldn’t unsee.The scent of lavender bath soak hung heavy in the air, but it couldn’t mask the memory of that hallway. The blood. The sound of flesh meeting bone. The look on Marco’s face—detached, calm, and chillingly in control.She hugged herself tighter.Her phone buzzed on the sink.She didn’t move.It buzzed again.She didn’t need to look to know who it was.Marco.The first time it had pinged, she’d made the mistake of checking. His words still lingered in her mind.Did you stop by a club tonight?I smelled your perfume.Her breath caught.He smelled her.That was how close she’d been.That was how dangerous it had been.Mia sank lower into the water until it touched her jaw. She let the silence wrap around her, ignoring the world outside the bathroom door.She

“I don’t feel great,” Mia said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Think I need to go home.”Lilian’s brows furrowed. “You look pale.”“I probably just need to sleep it off,” Mia said quickly. “Sorry, I should’ve stayed in.”Lilian waved her hand. “No, don’t apologize! Want me to come with?”“No, no—stay. You’re having fun. I’ll grab a cab.”“Text me when you get home, okay?”Mia nodded, her fingers already fumbling for her phone.She didn’t breathe again until she was out of the bar, the night air hitting her like a slap. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she rushed toward the curb, waving frantically for a ride.Her heart pounded as she looked over her shoulder.Was he still in there? Had he seen her? Was he coming?The moment she slid into the back of a cab and slammed the door, her hands began to tremble. She gave the driver her address and stared blankly out the window, replaying Marco’s face, the blood, the bottle, over and over again.The cab ride felt endless.Mia sat s

The conference room was colder than usual.Mia shifted in her seat, notebook open, pen poised, though her thoughts were anything but focused. Her heart still hadn’t settled since the message Marco sent that morning. It echoed in her mind like a low hum beneath the corporate drone surrounding her.You look beautiful today.She hadn’t replied. Wouldn’t. Not yet. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it either.The door opened with a hiss, and just like that, the air in the room seemed to stiffen.Mr. Gravitas entered—immaculate suit, steel-gray tie, not a hair out of place. His presence was like a slap of cold water: jolting, direct, impossible to ignore. He carried an aura of power wrapped in silence, the kind that didn’t need to raise its voice to command a room.“Let’s begin,” he said simply.The team straightened instantly, posture perfect, eyes alert. Mia tucked her emotions behind a corporate mask and prepared to focus—but something about Mr. Gravitas today was different. His tone

Dave’s POVThe whisky burned his throat, but it was nothing compared to the fire in his chest.He hadn’t touched a drink in years, but after what happened at the library, self-control felt like a joke.He paced his apartment like a caged animal, heart thudding in his ears. The moment Mia turned and saw Marco, something in her face shifted. Relief. Like she’d been rescued.From him.“She made me believe…” he muttered, gripping the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles turned white. “All those late-night book talks. The way she laughed when I told her she was the only one who actually got me…”He grabbed the glass again and downed the last of it, staring into the empty bookshelf across the room. It used to be filled. Now, only a few titles remained—ones he couldn’t bear to part with. Her favorites.“I was there for her. Not him.” His voice cracked. “I listened. I cared.”But none of it mattered now. Because Mia had chosen Marco. The billionaire. The threat.Dave’s hands curled into fist

Mia’s POVThe sky had long darkened, and the golden hues of dusk gave way to deep indigo. Inside the bookstore, the soft lamplight cast a cozy, flickering glow on the wood-paneled walls. It smelled like old paper, fresh espresso, and cinnamon muffins—the comforting signature scent of Chapters & Coffee.Marco.He just stood there, the city lights reflecting off his dark coat, hair tousled like he’d run a hand through it a dozen times. There was something almost wild in his eyes. Not violent—just intense. Caged. Like he was battling something inside him that didn’t want to stay quiet anymore.My mom, bless her timing, gave him a suspicious once-over from behind the counter before murmuring, “I’ll be back in ten. We’re out of milk.” She gave me a tight smile—one that said we’re going to talk about this later—then slipped out the door.The air shifted. The moment she left, it felt like the entire store sighed into stillness.Marco moved closer, hands in his coat pockets, his gaze never le

Marco’s POVThe sun had dipped behind the skyline, casting the city in a gold-tinged gloom as I watched from the driver’s seat of the black Aston Martin. The hum of the engine had gone cold. I hadn’t moved in nearly twenty minutes. Not since she walked out of that glass building—Luxe Visions—like she was carrying a thousand invisible bricks on her back.Mia Cruz.The woman who made me question every rule I’d lived by, every line I’d drawn to keep people out.Her shoulders were tense beneath the tailored beige coat she wore, the collar flipped up like armor against the late evening chill. Her steps weren’t rushed, but they weren’t steady either. Each one looked like she had to convince herself to take it. I watched as she paused at the corner, her head tilting toward the sky for just a second like she needed to remind herself how to breathe.She didn’t see me.Didn’t know I’d been here since noon—since just after I left her standing in that diner, after I told her I couldn’t walk away