Nobela ni Zobelle Monroe

The silence in the Caldwell penthouse had a weight to it—thick, almost suffocating. Lena sat curled on the chaise in Zane’s study, her eyes locked on the fireplace, though the flames had long gone out. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket draped across her lap, but the chill that danced down her spine wasn’t from the cold.It was the growing distance between them.Zane hadn’t said much since returning from the office. His jaw had been locked, shoulders tense, as if carrying the weight of something he refused to name. He’d kissed her cheek, murmured something about a headache, and vanished into the guest room.It wasn’t like him.Not anymore.Lena bit her lip. The secrecy was gnawing at her. She had kept Victoria’s visit a secret, and it felt like that silence had bloomed into something darker, festering between them.Tell him, her conscience whispered for the hundredth time. Before someone else does.She pulled her legs closer to her chest and exhaled, her breath shaky

Lena didn’t sleep.Not after Victoria’s chilling smile. Not after the deliberate drop of Celine’s name. Not after that final line, delivered like a threat wrapped in velvet: “Celine was a storm. But I’m the hurricane.”By the time she made it back to the penthouse, it was past midnight. She walked in like a ghost, shutting the door softly behind her. The lights were low. The air smelled like him—Zane. Whiskey, cedar, faint smoke.And there he was, sitting on the couch, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, glass in hand. His expression was unreadable.“You weren’t answering your phone,” he said, voice calm but tight.“I needed air,” she said.“For four hours?”She walked past him toward the kitchen, her coat still on. “You don’t get to question where I go when you won’t even talk to me about Celine.”His head turned sharply. “So we’re still on that?”“You kept her from me. Then tonight—” Lena stopped herself, realizing she was about to confess the encounter with Victoria. Not yet. Not now.Z

Lena stared at the screen long after the message from Marcus disappeared.“Ask him about Celine.”Just five words—but they rattled something deep inside her. Zane never spoke about his past. He danced around it like landmines. And now a name—Celine—had become the flame to a fuse she wasn’t sure she was ready to light.She closed her laptop and sat back on the couch, heart thudding. The penthouse was silent, only the distant hum of traffic breaking through the glass windows. Zane was still at a meeting, and the silence stretched like a loaded question.She didn’t want to be suspicious. She didn’t want to be that woman—the one constantly questioning, digging, bracing for disappointment. But Marcus had planted the seed.And it was growing.Later that night, Zane returned. His tie was loose, and he looked tired—but still disarmingly handsome. The kind of tired that came from too many conversations, too many responsibilities. His eyes lit up when they landed on her, but Lena stayed curled o

Lena woke before dawn, her body tangled in the soft linen sheets, her heart far from rested. The ocean outside whispered calmly, but inside her chest, there was a storm.The message from Marcus wouldn’t leave her alone.“You’re not the only one hiding something from Zane.”She hadn’t shown Zane the photo. Couldn’t. Not yet. Her phone lay facedown on the nightstand like a secret she couldn’t bear to look at again.Zane stirred beside her, warm and solid, one arm still loosely draped over her waist. His scent—clean, masculine, familiar—should’ve calmed her. Instead, it only made the guilt twist deeper.She turned to study his face. Even in sleep, he looked guarded. Like a man who didn’t know how to let his walls down all the way. Was he really hiding something? Or was Marcus playing her?She slipped quietly from the bed and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The beach house was still, the early light just beginning to filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She poured herself a glass

Lena woke before dawn, her body tangled in the soft linen sheets, her heart far from rested. The ocean outside whispered calmly, but inside her chest, there was a storm.The message from Marcus wouldn’t leave her alone.“You’re not the only one hiding something from Zane.”She hadn’t shown Zane the photo. Couldn’t. Not yet. Her phone lay facedown on the nightstand like a secret she couldn’t bear to look at again.Zane stirred beside her, warm and solid, one arm still loosely draped over her waist. His scent—clean, masculine, familiar—should’ve calmed her. Instead, it only made the guilt twist deeper.She turned to study his face. Even in sleep, he looked guarded. Like a man who didn’t know how to let his walls down all the way. Was he really hiding something? Or was Marcus playing her?She slipped quietly from the bed and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The beach house was still, the early light just beginning to filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She poured herself a glas

Lena sat curled on the far end of the living room couch, legs tucked beneath her, sketchbook open in her lap. She hadn’t drawn a single line.The page remained blank, like her thoughts—scattered, disjointed, not quite ready to form something real.The house was quiet, save for the low hum of the air conditioner and the occasional clicking of Zane’s keyboard upstairs. He was on a video call with his legal team, something about a contract revision ahead of a major merger meeting next week. She only knew because she’d overheard Marcus’s name mentioned twice—and each time, her stomach twisted tighter.Lena traced her thumb along the sketchpad’s edge. She should tell Zane. She wanted to. But every time she got close, her tongue grew heavy, and fear filled her lungs.Victoria’s message haunted her. “He doesn’t know you like I do.”And Marcus—he wasn’t just suspicious anymore. He was circling.What if bringing all this up now only made things worse? What if it pushed Zane away?“Still tryin