Novels by Zeebah

Chapter 11Of course, I heard the news.It was everywhere.My wife—Fuck! Even saying that out loud sounded strange.My wife was back.But not just back.Back and making headlines.I cursed Alfred under my breath.Stupid old man. How do you let a mere girl walk in and take your company out from under you?And the worst part? He didn’t even know it was her.I scoffed, shifting in bed, my arm draped over the blonde passed out beside me. The stench of cheap perfume lingered, sticky and sour.I’ve always been careful. Always.My company was solid. No weak points. No gaps in control. I'd never let anyone blindside me like Alfred just had.I was mid-thought when she stirred beside me, her fingers trailing across my chest.Pathetic.“Don’t touch me,” I barked, swatting her hand away. “Get out.”She blinked, confused. “What? Why—”“Get. Out.” My voice dropped lower, bitter.“You’re just another desperate whore looking for a rich man to cling to,” I growled.She scrambled, throwing on last nig

Chapter 10“Touchdown,” I whispered as the wheels hit the tarmac.Theo sat up straight beside me, eyes glued to the window. “We’re in New York, mama?”“We are, baby.”He leaned closer, fogging the glass with his breath. “It’s so big.”“Yeah,” I murmured. “It always was.”The airport was crowded, loud as usual.“Don’t let go of my hand, okay?” I said.He nodded, clutching my hand tightly, his eyes wide as we stepped through the automatic doors at JFK.“Where’s Aunt Audrey?” he asked, tugging gently on my coat.“Right there,” I whispered, spotting her just past the crowd.And God,Audrey.She stood near the black car with tinted windows, one hand on her hip, her other holding her phone. Her heels clicked sharply against the pavement as she walked toward us,“You look like power,” I said as she reached us.She smiled, lowering her sunglasses. “That’s because I was dressed by the devil herself.”Theo ran into her arms.“Aunt Audrey!” he squealed.She picked him up like he weighed nothing.

Chapter 9The scent of espresso mingled with fabric glue and silk in the air of my Parisian studio, my sanctuary. Sunlight spilled through the wide windows, casting shadows over bolts of velvet and sketches pinned to corkboards. I stood behind the main worktable, carefully stitching the final crystal embellishments onto a custom evening gown for Crown Princess Alina of Lichtenberg. A statement piece. Timeless. Ruthless. Just like the woman wearing it.And just like the woman creating it.My phone buzzed beside the sewing machine. I wiped my hands on a cloth before picking it up.Audrey:Your father’s company just received a massive anonymous loan. New investor, supposedly. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that… would you? A slow smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I set the phone down. My reflection in the glass showed the same calm mask I wore every day, but beneath it, a fire burned.They had no idea the investor they were bragging about was me.Or at least, the name

Chapter 8Paris.It wasn’t grand.Not when I arrived jet-lagged, broken, and barely holding myself together with a frayed scarf and the cash Audrey had pressed into my hands. The city of lights didn’t dazzle me then. It just felt cold, unfamiliar. And painfully expensive.I slept on a friend-of-a-friend’s couch in a tiny Montmartre apartment for the first few weeks. No heating. Mold on the ceiling. But it was freedom.By day, I scrubbed tables in a crowded café tucked between a bookstore and a creperie. By night, I attended a small, underfunded fashion school in the 18th arrondissement—La Maison de Couture Artisanale. It wasn’t glamorous, but it gave me purpose.“You’ve got something,” Madame Duclair, my pattern instructor, said once, inspecting a draped muslin I’d worked on all week. “You stitch pain into beauty. Don’t lose that.”I didn’t know what she meant until months later.Two years passed in a blur of threading needles, spilled coffee, and prenatal vitamins. The pregnancy ha

Chapter 7The sting.The sharp sound of a slap.My father’s ring left a mark that day, right below my cheekbone.I still remember the way he looked at me afterward. Cold.“You’re not my daughter,” he had said.No shouting. No pleading. Just... silence.From the corner of my eye, I saw them.Rebecca. Kian.Standing just behind him silent, composed, watching.Rebecca with her smug little smirk barely hidden behind false sympathy.Kian with that familiar blankness on his face, the kind he wore when he didn’t want to get his hands dirty.What had they told him?I blinked, clearing my head,as Audrey’s soft voice reached me.“You okay?” she asked gently, sitting beside me.I nodded, even though I wasn’t.For three long days, Audrey had been my everything.She barely left my side. Cooked even when I couldn’t eat, held me while I cried.Each night, I lay curled on her couch, staring at the ceiling as Kian’s voice echoed in my head, cold and final as he ended our marriage.But it was Audrey’s

Chapter 6 As I stepped into the house that was never my home, I walked past the remains of my shattered dreams. Dreams of raising my children here, of being loved here, more like shattered delusions, i sighed The place had always been cold, but now it felt hollow. Emptier than I remembered. Each step echoed as I passed through the hallway and into the kitchen. On the marble counter, something caught my eye a slick piece of paper, laid out like it was waiting for me. I moved closer, my chest tightening. It was the divorce papers. Already signed. Next to it sat an expensive ballpoint pen, silver and sleek, the kind he always carried around for signing deals that cost more than my entire life. Of course he’d be prepared. Of course he’d make it a business. I had signed a prenup, without a child, I wasn’t entitled to a dime of his fortune. Not the house. Not the car. Not even the wedding dress I’d once believed meant something. Just as I turned to leave, something e