Novels by olukoladeadefusi

Jackson's POVThe grandfather clock struck three AM as I locked the cellar door behind us. The reinforced steel vibrated with the clone's snarls—*Anna's* snarls, twisted into something feral. Luna pressed her small face against the viewing slit, her breath fogging the glass. "She's scared," she whispered. I adjusted the silver chains around my bleeding wrists. The clone had taken three darts of wolfsbane to subdue. "She'll calm by sunrise." A lie. The Geneva serum in her veins was destabilizing by the hour. I'd seen the signs before—the blackened capillaries, the tremors, the way her pupils kept dilating to swallow the gold. Soon, not even Luna's whispered comforts would reach her. Harris leaned against the stone wall, Olivia's revolver still dangling from his fingers. "We can't keep her here. The board arrives in six hours." "Then we move her." I wiped clone blood from my cheek. The scent—*Anna but wrong, sterile like alcohol and cold metal*—clung to my skin. Luna tugged my sle

Anna's POV The world came back in shattered pieces. First the scent—blood and wolfsbane, thick as syrup in my throat. Then the pain, radiating from my shoulder in waves that made my bones vibrate. Finally, the voices, warped as though heard through water. *"...serum wasn't pure enough..."* *"...can't stop it now..."* *"...she'll die if we don't..."* I forced my eyes open. The study swam into focus through a haze of amber—colors too bright, shadows pulsing with unnatural life. My hands flexed against the chaise lounge, and I recoiled. My fingernails had darkened to obsidian, tapered into cruel points. Black veins spiderwebbed beneath my skin. "Anna." Jackson's face appeared above me, his features sharpened in my new vision. The stubble along his jaw caught the firelight in impossible detail, each hair distinct. His pupils were blown wide, irises glowing gold like my fevered blood. I tried to speak. What came out was a growl. Something small and warm touched my clawed hand. "

(Olivia Blackwell's POV)The conservatory door slammed behind Anna with such force that the glass panes rattled like bones in a crypt. I watched through the warped windows as her emerald gown disappeared into the moonlit gardens, the torn hem snagging on thorns—leaving behind shreds of silk that fluttered like dying moths. Harris Liam's chuckle coiled through the humid air, thick as the scent of rotting orchids. "You always did have impeccable timing, Olivia." I turned from the window, my silk robe clinging to the sweat at my collarbones. "That wasn't revelation. That was butchery." He pocketed the damning hospital report with the same fluid motion he'd used to cheat at cards when we were children. His cufflinks—onyx serpents with emerald eyes—caught the moonlight as he poured another sherry. "Cruelty would've been showing her the security footage. The blood bubbling from her lips. The way she shoved Jackson toward the door—" "Enough." My voice cracked like the conservatory's frac

(Harris Liam's POV)The conservatory's humid air clung to my skin like a second suit as I checked the pocket watch. 11:53 PM. Seven minutes until our scheduled meeting. Seven minutes to ensure every trap was properly set. I adjusted my onyx cufflinks - serpent-shaped, a gift from Mother on the day I took over Liam Enterprises - and watched moonlight fracture through the glass ceiling. The Blackwell conservatory was a masterpiece of Gilded Age excess, all wrought iron and rare orchids, now slowly rotting from neglect. Fitting. Everything Jackson Blackwell touched eventually decayed. The watch's ticking synced with my pulse as I circled the central fountain. My reflection warped in the tarnished bronze basin, the face looking more like Father's every year. Same sharp cheekbones. Same cruel twist of the mouth when unobserved. Twenty years since he'd stood in this very spot, handing Richard Langford that first poison vial. Now history would repeat, with far more interesting players. A

(Jackson’s pov)The study smelled of gunpowder and grief. Jackson Blackwell poured three fingers of Macallan, watching ice cubes fracture in the glass like his composure the night Anna Langford died. *Really died.* The pocket watch in his other hand ticked mercilessly. 2:17 AM. Exactly when her pulse had stopped in his arms.*Tick.*The grandfather clock in the hallway groaned as if remembering too.- One Year Earlier (First Timeline)Her choking gasp still tore through his nightmares. Jackson had been reviewing merger documents when the scream shattered the silence. By the time he reached their bathroom, Anna was curled on the marble floor like a broken doll, her ivory nightgown stained crimson at the thighs. "Jackson—" Blood bubbled at her lips as she clutched her swollen stomach. "It burns—" He gathered her against his chest, her body convulsing. The acrid scent of bitter almonds clung to her sweat-slicked skin. Cyanide. Someone had given her cyanide. "Who gave you the wine?" J

(Anna's POV)The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the marble vanity. Harris's warning slithered through my mind like smoke—*This time, he might not hesitate.* I stared at my reflection. The woman in the mirror wore my face, but her eyes... God, her eyes were different. Harder. Darker. The eyes of someone who'd stared death in the face and lived to plot revenge. A draft slithered through the bedroom, making the silk curtains shudder. Jackson's abandoned tie lay coiled on the armchair like a sleeping snake. Black. Expensive. Just like his lies. I reached for it, running the silk between my fingers. The last time I'd touched this tie, it had been around my throat. His hands tightening. My vision darkening. The bitter taste of poisoned wine on my tongue— *No.* I dropped the tie as if burned. That was the past. This was now. And in this life, I wouldn't be the one choking. A floorboard groaned downstairs. Silent as a shadow, I moved to the bedroom door. The grand stair