Novels by Author Serena

MIRABELLAMy pulse speeds up, a rapid flutter against my ribs that makes it hard to breathe evenly. “Oh.”“I’ve tried to put her off for as long as I could,” Cassian continues, his voice measured but tinged with something that might be weariness. “At least until I was sure you’d settled in. But she’s persistent, and she thinks it’s time she meets you.”I don’t know what to say to that. The words tangle in my throat, refusing to form anything coherent. I don’t even know this woman—don’t know what to expect from her, what kind of person she is, whether she’ll look at me with kindness or resentment. My father’s widow. The phrase feels foreign in my mind, like trying on clothes that don’t quite fit.Cassian seems to read my mind, or maybe the confusion is just that obvious on my face, because he says, “She’s not the worst person, but her marriage with your father wasn’t the best.” There’s something careful in how he phrases it, like he’s editing his words even as they leave his mouth.“Yo

MIRABELLAThe next morning, I find Kaius in the driveway leaning against Kaden’s truck.He’s dressed in sneakers, long gym shorts, and a muscle tee that’s open at the sides, revealing strips of tan skin and defined muscle. He looks hotter than any jerk has the right to, and I hate that I notice. A baseball cap is pulled low over his forehead, casting shadows across his face.I glance around, searching for Kieran who’s supposed to take me to school, but he’s nowhere to be found.“Looking for someone?” Kaius asks, his voice carrying that familiar edge of mockery.I shift my backpack on my shoulder, pretending I haven’t heard him. The courtyard stretches empty around us—no sign of the Mercedes, no sign of escape. My stomach sinks as I check my phone. If I don’t leave in the next five minutes, I’ll be late for my first shift at the café, and Belinda made it clear she doesn’t tolerate tardiness.“Get in,” Kaius says, jerking his head toward the truck. “I’ll give you a ride.”I stare at hi

MIRABELLAThe moment I step into the café, I’m greeted by the most heavenly smell. Warm bread, cinnamon, roasted coffee beans—it all wraps around me like a blanket I didn’t know I needed. My shoulders relax without my permission, and for the first time all day, I almost feel safe. Behind the counter stands a woman with straw-colored hair swept into a neat bun. Her apron is spotless, though flour dusts the tips of her fingers. Her eyes, a clear blue, find me immediately. “Hi, sweetie,” she says with a kind of brisk warmth. “What can I get for you?” Her hands hover over the register, ready for my order. I swallow, nerves bunching in my throat. “Actually, I’m not here for coffee. I’m Mirabella Taylor, and I’d like to apply for the assistant job. The ad outside said there were school-friendly hours? I go to Silvercrest Hall.” Her eyebrows lift. “Hmm. A scholarship student?” I don’t correct her, even though the truth is more complicated. Technically, she isn’t wrong—I’m only here

MIRABELLA I’m so startled I let out a tiny squeak, and immediately the sound leaves my lips, I curse myself for it, because the sound sets off another round of laughter behind me. I squeeze my eyes shut, blinking hard against the tears that burn at the back of them, desperate not to let them spill. I don’t want them to see me crying. I don’t want them to know just how much this has gotten to me. My shoes squelch as I shift on the wet tile. Something slimy slides off my sleeve and lands with a sickening slap against the floor. A banana peel lies at my feet, yellow gone brown, edges curling in on themselves. I nudge it away with the tip of my shoe, breathing through my mouth instead of my nose so the smell doesn’t send me over the edge. The stench is rancid—rotting food, sour milk, something metallic. My stomach heaves when my gaze snags on a bloodstained tampon stuck to the corner of my locker door, dangling like some cruel punchline. I roll my tongue against the roof of my m

MIRABELLAThe rest of the weekend passes in a blur. I spend most of it holed up in my room, headphones in, trying to drown out the sounds of laughter and footsteps echoing down the Windsor halls. I keep out of the twins’ way as much as possible. It feels safer that way, though “safe” in this house doesn’t really exist.By Monday morning, I’m exhausted even though I’ve barely moved. Cassian drops me off at school in his sleek black car, the leather still carrying that expensive smell that reminds me this isn’t my world. Before I step out, he tells me my car will arrive before the end of the week. His tone is calm, businesslike, but the words stick in my chest. A car. My own. It feels like surreal. One day, I’m barely able to scrape up enough to afford a meal, and now, I’m getting my own car.But at the same time, it feels like chains the chains around me are getting pulled tighter. Because the only reason it’s happening is that I agreed to stay. The school building looms ahead of me,

MIRABELLAThe night air still clings to me long after I collapse into bed, my legs aching, my new shoes rubbed raw against my feet. I lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, trying to shake the image of taillights vanishing into the trees. Kaius left me there like I was disposable, like I was nothing. When I finally drift into a restless sleep, it doesn’t last. My dreams are jagged, broken, stitched together with laughter that isn’t kind and faces that blur into shadows. By morning, I’m sore, hollowed out, and every part of me wants to disappear. I drag myself to the kitchen anyway, because hiding in my room will only make me look weaker. A bowl of cereal sits in front of me, rainbow loops floating soggy in milk, but I can barely force myself to eat. My legs ache under the table, my feet swollen from walking so far in shoes that weren’t meant for it. I’ve barely been here a week, and I already feel like I won’t survive two years. The school. The Windsor brothers. This house.