Novels by Violetta1234

Anna didn’t spiral all at once.It started slow.The first purchase was an accidentor at least, that’s what she told herself. A sapphire Cartierring she didn’t need but liked the weight of.The next day, she bought three pairs of Louboutin heels she’d already owned in othercolors. The boutique staff didn’t blink. Of course Ms. Rossi needed another round of redsoles. Of course she needed that Fendi trench coat in both camel and crimson. Of course sheneeded a private viewing of the Bulgari diamond collection at 11 p.m.She kept the sunglasses on the whole time.They assumed it was fashion.It was hangover camouflage.By day three, the marble floors of her walk-in closet were littered with shopping bags, pricetags torn off and thrown like confetti. A champagne glass had been sitting half-full besidethe tub for two days, untouched, forgotten.She hadn’t been to work. She hadn’t spoken to her father. She hadn’t spoken to anyone.Except the salesgirls and the doormen and the strangers who t

Luke didn’t knock this time. He banged.Not hard enough to break the door, just enough to rattle it. Just enough to be heard overthe cheap stereo system inside blasting some remix of something.She opened the door with a grin and a drink in her hand.“Luke,” Claire said, like he was a late RSVP to her private party. Her hair was curled, hermakeup flawless. “Wasn’t expecting you.”“Do not flatter me,” Luke said, stepping inside anyway. “You texted me ten times and leftthree voicemails.”“I figured you’d show up eventually,” she said with a shrug, walking barefoot toward herkitchen island. “You always do.”There were two glasses out. One half-full. One lipstick-stained.Luke’s jaw flexed. “Someone here?”“Does it matter?”His eyes flashed. “You called me crying two nights ago. You said you couldn’t sleep and thatyou wanted to kill yourself.”Claire raised one sculpted brow. “And?”“And now you’re throwing drinks back with some random guy like it never happened?”She tilted her head. “May

The kitchen counter was cold.Anna wasn’t.She was already gasping when Luke lifted her onto it, robe riding high around her hips, bare thighs spread wide like an offering he hadn’t earned but was about to take anyway.His palms gripped her legs, his thumbs dragging slow circles over her skin, his jaw tight with restraint. His voice came low, like he was already halfway gone.“You’re really not giving me a second to breathe.”Her smile was dangerous. “No one told you to come up.”“I didn’t come up,” he said, sliding between her legs. “You dragged me.”She leaned in, her mouth grazing his. “You didn’t exactly fight me off.”He kissed her like that was the only answer he had. “I don’t think this surface is rated for nudity,” she whispered, tilting her hips into his hand.“I’ll call hotel maintenance,” he muttered, trailing kisses from her mouth down her neck. “Let them know you’re the hazard.”She moaned as his teeth found the edge of her collarbone. “God, you’re so hot when you’re irr

Luke Marlowe had been shot at three times in his life. Once in Libya. The second in Prague and the last while standing too close to a Saudi prince with a questionable poker habit. None of those things compared to the quiet fury of waiting in a Bentley while Anna Rossi flirted her way through a blind date with a man named Barclay. Barclay. Who the fuck was named Barclay? Was he a polo horse? Luke glanced at the restaurant door again and still no sign of her. Just some other overdressed men with veneers and inherited confidence stepping out with women who looked bored enough to start fires for fun. Luke tapped the steering wheel once. Then again. Still nothing. She’d been in there for ninety minutes now. He adjusted his collar. Again. Not because he needed to, but because if he didn’t do something, he was going to punch the leather dash and that thing cost more than he did. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. He knew better. She was Anna Rossi. He was her bodyguard

London, 9:03 a.m.Luke was waiting downstairs like nothing had happened.He was dressed in a black coat with blacker sunglasses and steel in his jaw, plus a perfectly blank expression as he stood by the Bentley’s open door. He looked like a man ready to guard royalty, not someone who’d had his hands up her dress and his mouth on her neck six hours ago.Anna Rossi descended the marble steps in a blazer-dress that screamed “fuck off” in a dialect only billionaires could afford. Her lush hair was scraped into a high ponytail.She didn’t speak. She merely slid into the backseat with the elegance of someone who’d had centuries to practice pretending she didn’t care.Luke shut the door behind her, it was too gentle. Like she might crack.By the time he got behind the wheel, she was already on her phone, scrolling viciously through either gossip headlines or group texts she didn’t actually care about. Probably both.“Morning,” he said, his voice low, damn near inaudible.She didn’t glance





The backseat of the Bentley shimmered in soft light, tinted windows cocooning Anna Rossi in a kind of rich-girl vibe as the car hummed past the glittering streets of London. Her phone buzzed again, another ping from the gossip feeds. She sighed, crossing her long legs.


Rossi Heiress Caught “Flirting Dangerously” with a Prince yet Again?
Anna Rossi or Anna Racy? A Breakdown of the Billionaire Sister’s London Romp
Five Clutches, One Night: Is She Showing Off or Spiraling?


Anna let out a laugh, dry and sweet like the aged wine they couldn’t even get right at Buckingham dinners. “Flirting dangerously,” she muttered, skimming the article with one manicured finger. “Darling, I invented that danger.”


The car swerved gently, weaving toward the West End where Verre Noire awaited an ultra-exclusive nightclub hidden beneath a Michelin-starred restaurant. Anna reached for her diamond-studded clutch, then paused, eyeing the metallic sapphire one beside it. Her brow furrowed in agony. “Lu

The dungeon air clung thick with the scent of blood and rusted iron. Sarah’s heels clicked against the damp stone floor, each step deliberate, echoing through the narrow corridor like a slow-counting clock.The lamp flickered against the walls, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to flinch away from her.At the end of the passage, a heavy oak door stood slightly ajar. Beyond it, the soft, ragged sound of breathing.Sarah smiled.She pushed the door open with a single finger, letting it creak on its hinges. The room beyond was small, windowless, the only light coming from a single lantern hanging from a rusted chain. In the center, strapped to a chair with thick leather restraints, was Rhenn.The Delta of Noah’s pack. Or what was left of him.His body was slumped forward, his bare torso a canvas of bruises and shallow cuts. Blood crusted along his collarbone, dried in dark streaks down his chest. His right arm ended abruptly at the wrist, the stump wrapped in filthy bandages tha

The package arrived at dawn. Noah stood alone in his study. It sat on his desk, wrapped in plain brown paper, tied with twine. No note. No name. But he knew. Sullivan always had a flair for the dramatic. The twine snapped easily under his fingers. The paper fell away, revealing a wooden crate beneath. He lifted the lid. The stench hit him first, the copper and the decay. Then the sight: a severed hand, fingers curled inward, the skin gray and lifeless. Nestled between the stiff fingers was a single sheet of parchment. Noah’s stomach turned, but he reached for the letter. His fingers brushed cold flesh, and he recoiled before forcing himself to snatch the paper free. The handwriting was elegant, deliberate. NoahDo you enjoy playing king?I wonder how it feels to sit upon a throne built on lies. To wear a crown that doesn’t belong to you. Tell me, dear nephew, does the gold feel heavy when you know it’s stolen?This gift comes with a lesson. A reminder that loyalty is

“Mom, I need to tell you something.” Emma’s mom stopped kneading the batter, flour dusting her fingers as she propped herself against the kitchen counter, balancing on one foot.The afternoon light streaming through the window caught the streaks of silver in her dark hair, and for the first time, Emma noticed how much older her mother looked, how the lines around her eyes had deepened, how her shoulders carried a weight that hadn’t been there before.And this is all because of me, Emma thought guiltily. “So?” Her mother arched a brow, her expression a mix of curiosity. Emma swallowed hard. Okay. Here goes nothing. “So, I’m going to say some really weird stuff. Please don’t interrupt me. Just let me get it all out, okay? And I swear I’m not insane.” Her mom’s lips quirked into a tiny smile, and she gave a single nod, crossing her arms. “There were so many times I wanted to tell you…” “Are you pregnant?” “NOOO! Mom, I am not pregnant! What the…..I just begged you not to

Tammy had told herself she wasn’t going to change.She’d told herself she’d just go as she was, baggy hoodie, worn jeans, the comfortable armor she wore when she wanted to keep people away. No fuss. No second thoughts.But then she stood in front of her closet, staring at the soft red tank top she almost never wore. It clung in all the wrong places. Or maybe all the right ones.She told herself it was hot out. She told herself she just wanted to be comfortable.She was lying to herself.With a frustrated groan, she yanked off her hoodie and switched tops, feeling the cool air whisper over her bare shoulders like a lover’s breath. The fabric hugged her curves, dipping just low enough to tease the swell of her breasts.She hesitated, then swapped her loose jeans for the pair that hugged her hips tighter, the denim snug against her thighs.She caught her reflection in the mirror and almost rolled her eyes. She was so pathetic. She was going to meet the enemy, not a date.Except her "enem

“Tammy, are you okay?” Emma asked for the tenth time that evening, her voice laced with concern.She studied her friend’s face closely, noting the way Tammy’s usually bright eyes had dulled, the corners of her mouth pulled tight in an uncharacteristic frown. Tammy’s shoulders were hunched, as if carrying an invisible weight, and her fingers fidgeted restlessly with the hem of her sweater.This wasn’t the carefree, bubbly Tammy Emma knew, the one who laughed too loudly and danced like no one was watching. “I am fine,” Tammy said coldly, her tone sharp enough to make Emma flinch.She didn’t even glance up, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor. “Stop worrying about me.” Emma raised her hands in mock surrender, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Okay,” she said slowly, drawing out the word.She hesitated before sitting beside Tammy on the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. The silence between them stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Finally, Emma sighed and nudged Tammy’s

Tammy moved through the trees like a whisper. Her senses were extra sharp, her claws could be seen a bit beneath the skin. The nighttime air was heavy with tension, the kind that made her wolf twitch and her gut coil with unease.She and Rakesh had split up to patrol the eastern perimeter. There had been reports of movement around the area. Sullivan’s people prowling closer, testing boundaries.And after what happened to Emma’s mom’s restaurant, nobody was taking any chances.Tammy wasn’t taking any chances.Her boots barely made a sound as she stepped over broken twigs and fallen leaves. Every sound, the rustle of branches, the whisper of wind set her on edge.She had seen Noah furious before, but it was nothing like tonight. The way he had spoken. The way his howl had shaken the bones of every wolf in the clearing. It made something in her stir. Something loyal.She stopped at the ridge, peering down toward the road below. Her breath formed light fogs in the cold air.Then she saw h