Novels by Ndudirim Stanley

Manhattan mornings had a way of lying. The skyline glinted with promise, but beneath it, Amara felt like she was treading water in a dress too heavy to swim in. She sat in a sun-drenched corner of her favorite café, a half-eaten croissant on her plate and her laptop open to a blank document.Across from her, Tessa arched a brow. “Are you actually going to Tuscany, or are we still pretending it’s not happening?”Amara let out a breath. “I haven’t made up my mind. It’s just… everything. The baby, the noise, Liam.”“Liam’s the noise,” Tessa said, stirring her cappuccino. “Tuscany is peace. Take the peace. You deserve it.”Amara stared at her untouched coffee. Her fingers tapped restlessly on the ceramic cup. She hadn’t told Tessa about the gala balcony moment—not fully. Not the way Liam had looked at her. Like she was both a stranger and a memory that still hurt.Her phone buzzed. No calls. Still no Liam.But then—New Email: Su

The plane touched down in Florence just past noon, its wheels humming against the tarmac as if echoing the flutter in Amara’s chest. Tuscany, in all its golden splendor, greeted her through the oval window—rolling hills, sun-drenched vineyards, and that unmistakable warmth of a slower world. She hadn't even stepped off the plane, but something inside her had already exhaled.This was supposed to be a dream. A month of art, peace, and distance from everything.Especially Liam Blackwood.The Lowell Residency villa was straight out of a fairytale. Nestled among cypress trees and stone walls covered in ivy, the main house overlooked a valley bathed in soft ochre light. Amara's room had a small balcony with iron railings, a vintage desk, and a view that looked like a painting come to life.She dropped her bags and opened the windows wide, letting the breeze in. Her phone buzzed with a notification.Tessa: "Send pics. Don’t act like you’re too bougie to share now."Amara: "Pics coming. It's

The sun had barely crested the city skyline when the hum of Manhattan stirred to life. Amara stood in front of her full-length mirror, dabbing concealer over dark circles that hadn’t faded since the gala. Her crimson gown hung on a hook by the door, looking like a relic from another life. She hadn’t slept well—memories of Liam’s hesitant compliment, Nathaniel’s crooked grin, and the hollow conversations around crystal flutes looped endlessly in her mind.Her phone buzzed. A message from her best friend, Tessa: "Coffee? My place. Urgent debrief."Amara didn’t need convincing. She slipped into jeans, a soft knit sweater, and boots, pulling her curls into a loose bun. She welcomed the chill as she stepped outside, hoping the wind would blow away the remnants of last night. Her heart thudded a little slower as the city swallowed her up, a soft rhythm of taxis, chatter, and promise.---Tessa’s apartment was a warm contrast to the world outside—sunligh

The morning after the gala, Blackwood Tower was oddly silent. Not in the absence-of-people sense, but in the way a storm quiets just before it breaks. Somewhere on the 36th floor, Liam leaned over a glass conference table, poring over contracts, his tie loosened, his espresso untouched.“Your brother’s charming, in that recklessly unpredictable way,” Camille said as she walked in without knocking, holding a tablet and sipping from a matte black tumbler. She stopped beside him and tapped the screen. “Q3 reports came in. Clean. But PR flagged your rooftop speech. Apparently, you 'almost smiled.'”Liam didn’t look up. “Tell them I’ll try harder to disappoint next time.”She gave a short laugh. “You okay?”He finally glanced at her. “Since when do you ask?”“Since you left the gala early, didn’t drink, and spoke to exactly one woman longer than a minute—and it wasn’t your mother.”Liam’s jaw flexed. “Amara is not a problem.”

The gala wasn’t just extravagant—it was a declaration of wealth. Blackwood Tower's rooftop had been transformed into a scene straight from a luxury magazine: glittering chandeliers swayed in the evening breeze, soft jazz filtered through the air, and champagne flowed like water. Waiters in white gloves weaved between guests, offering caviar-topped hors d'oeuvres and crystal glasses filled with golden effervescence. Every surface gleamed, every detail screamed deliberate excess. The skyline glittered beyond the edge like a constellation made just for them.Amara adjusted her crimson gown for the hundredth time, feeling the weight of every sequin and every gaze that slid across the room to rest on her. It clung to her like second skin, the low back and thigh-high slit leaving little to the imagination. She wasn't used to this kind of attention, not like this. Not so curated, so strategic. So... scrutinized.She wasn’t invisible tonight. Quite the opposite.Every look, every whisper in t

The ultrasound image sat on her nightstand like a secret.Amara hadn’t looked at it since she brought it home. It was just a swirl of black and gray, a tiny pulse frozen in ink. But knowing it was there… that was enough to undo her.She pulled the curtains back in the loft and let the morning light spill over the polished floors. Another quiet day. Another reminder that she was living in a space built by a man who still hadn’t said her name.The doorbell buzzed.She froze.No one ever buzzed.Her phone vibrated seconds later:“Ms. Moore, Mr. Blackwood’s assistant is downstairs with a delivery. May we send her up?”She typed “yes” before she could overthink it.A minute later, the elevator chimed. The doors slid open to reveal Celeste, impeccable as always, carrying two matte-black garment bags and a thin leather folder.“Morning,” Celeste said briskly. “May I?”Amara stepped aside.“These are approved wardrobe selections for the second trimester,” Celeste continued. “You’ll notice the