Novels by Miss Allyy

The city woke to chaos. Headlines flashed across every screen: “Zara Lane’s Empire in Flames”, “Fashion Queen or Corporate Parasite?”, “Blackwell’s Mistress Scandal Deepens.” Even the tabloids were whispering about her father’s “mysterious disappearance”—and one outlet, more brazen than the rest, ran a doctored photo suggesting Zara’s involvement in his vanishing.Zara leaned over the studio table, watching the storm unfold on her laptop. Swatches of her new line lay scattered around her like fallen soldiers—silks ripped, seams slashed, tags torn. Jasmine burst in, mascara streaked from crying.“They’ve broken into the showroom,” Jasmine gasped. “They’ve ruined everything.”Zara’s jaw clenched. “Find me who did it.”Jasmine swallowed. “It’s Vivienne’s people. They used Blackwell’s security codes.”Anger flared. “Good. Because they just painted a target on their own throats.”⸻Alec paced his penthouse like a caged beast, phone pressed to his ear. Investor calls, board members threaten

Zara never thought fabric could make her feel power. But as she stepped into the minimalist studio overlooking Manhattan’s East Side, the scent of raw silk and ambition hit her like perfume. Her name—ZARA LANE—was printed on sample tags, elegant and bold. The birth of her clothing line. Real. Tangible. Hers.She ran her fingers over a blazer, sleek with cut-glass structure, tailored for the kind of woman who ruled boardrooms with her lipstick shade.“This line is going to wreck the industry,” Jasmine whispered beside her, her long-time best friend turned business manager. “You realize that, right?”Zara smiled faintly. “It better.”Her phone buzzed. Alec.“Board meeting wrapped early. Need to see you. Urgent. Come by the penthouse.”She hesitated. Ever since he came clean about his identity, everything had shifted. The lies were out, but the silence between them had grown louder. They were rebuilding—but rebuilding required truth, and truth never came clean.Zara grabbed her jacket an

Zara stood at the window of the Paris penthouse, her breath fogging the glass. Below her, the city pulsed with life—neon signs, midnight cafés, horns in the distance. The Eiffel Tower glittered like a lie dressed in diamonds. Fitting.Behind her, the sound of leather shoes echoed against marble floors. Alec.“Say it,” she said, her voice sharp as the blade still buried in her chest. “Say it out loud.”He exhaled. “I’m Alec Blackwell.”“The Alec Blackwell,” she whispered, as if saying it too loud would shatter her.He stepped closer. “CEO of Blackwell Industries. Billionaire. Founder of the law firm you thought was just some ghost entity. The same one that bought out the company you used to work for.”Zara turned slowly. “And all this time… the broke guy with the holes in his shoes? The one with sad stories and broken ramen noodles in his cabinet—that was a show?”“No,” Alec said softly. “That was the truth I wanted. Stripped down. Real.”“Real?” she repeated, laughing bitterly. “You m

The silence in the chopper was thick.Zara sat across from the clone—Milli, her mirror. The girl hadn’t spoken since they lifted off. Her eyes scanned everything, absorbing every sound, every breath. Alec sat beside Zara, his fingers brushing hers every few minutes, grounding her. Roman flew the chopper in grim silence, weaving through the icy wind as if chased by ghosts.Zara leaned back, exhausted but wired. The vault was gone, but she felt like she’d stepped into a deeper kind of trap. Clones, codes, sealed vaults—this was no longer about fake identities or broken billionaire disguises.This was war.“We need to land soon,” Roman called. “Fuel’s tight.”Alec glanced at the map. “There’s a safe house five clicks south—old Russian research post. Deactivated since ‘98.”Zara nodded. “Do it.”They touched down an hour later, the chopper groaning as it settled beside a snow-buried compound.Inside, the lab was gutted but dry. Heat flickered back to life after Alec rerouted a generator,

The howling winds of the Arctic welcomed them like a curse.Zara stepped off the chopper, her boots crunching into a thick layer of snow. The cold slapped her face instantly, cutting through her jacket like glass. Roman was already scanning the perimeter with a thermal scope, and Alec stood beside her, shielding her from the worst of the wind with his body.“This isn’t just wilderness,” Roman muttered, adjusting his thermal visor. “There’s something under all this snow.”They were surrounded by a white expanse that looked deceptively empty. No buildings. No structures. Just endless ice. But Juliette hadn’t given them coordinates to nowhere.Zara opened her palm, revealing the ring-shaped compass Juliette once wore. Its needle spun wildly before settling in a direction—northeast.“She hid something,” Zara said. “Beneath all this.”The trek began.They moved as a unit, feet sinking deep into the snowdrift. Hours passed. The compass continued guiding them, until Alec suddenly stopped and

Zara’s blood turned to ice.There were no guards. No glass separating them. No alarms screaming her presence. Just the eerie stillness of an audience-less theater, and Juliette seated beneath a solitary spotlight with a crooked smile stitched across her pale face.A trap.Zara felt it in her bones. Alec’s hand twitched toward his weapon. Roman’s footsteps stopped behind her.“Something’s wrong,” Alec murmured.“Everything’s wrong,” Zara whispered.Juliette hadn’t moved. Her arms were relaxed over the velvet chair’s armrests, her posture too perfect, too deliberate. Her smile—it wasn’t joy or relief.It was… defiance.“She’s wired,” Roman said, scanning the area through his tactical lens. “Not just audio. Her entire chair is laced with explosives. Pressure-activated.”“She’s bait,” Alec hissed.Zara stepped closer anyway.“Zara,” Roman warned, “this is designed to blow if you touch her.”Zara didn’t stop. Juliette’s eyes followed her, slow and steady, filled with something unreadable.