Krissy Writ3s 의 작품

Dearest reader, When I first started writing this story, I had no idea what I was stepping into. Dante and Alera’s world began as a whisper in my head. Thier love was a messy, aching kind that demanded to be told and somehow, it became my very first published book on GoodNovel. This journey has been everything but easy. It’s been a learning and humbling curve. I’ve stumbled, grown, rewritten, cried, and smiled through every chapter. But most importantly, I’ve learned that stories have a way of healing not just the characters but the person writing them too. To my editor, thank you for taking a chance on me. For your patience, your honesty, and for seeing potential even when I couldn’t always see it myself. You helped me find my rhythm. And to every single reader who turned the pages, who rooted for Dante and Alera, who stayed even when things got hard, thank you. You are the heartbeat behind this book. Your messages, reactions and quiet presence, it all means more than I can e

𝘿𝘼𝙉𝙏𝙀 There’s a tiny pair of feet pounding across the garden again. “Ricardo!” Alera’s voice carries through the warm afternoon. “No running, sweetheart!” The boy only laughs, his black curls bouncing as he darts through the hydrangeas, his little shoes kicks up bits of soil as he runs. Two years old and faster than lightning, he's definitely her son, though he’s got my grin, my stubborn streak, and my complete disregard for rules. I’m kneeling beside a half finished ramp that I swore I’d build myself. Ten minutes in, I’ve already lost a screw and my patience. The nails don’t sit right, the boards are uneven, and there’s a hammer mark somewhere it doesn’t belong. I sigh, drag a hand through my hair, and mutter under my breath, “I was built for deals, not carpentry.” From the patio, Alera waddles out. She's radiant and round with our second child, one hand on her back, the other shading her eyes from the sunlight. She’s in one of my old shirts that now barely fits over her

𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 A few months after that dinner, I think I now have an idea of what he's up to. We’ve fallen into this strange rhythm with, calls every other night, quiet walks through the city when he’s free, long silences that somehow say more than words ever could. Sometimes he drops by my office just to bring me lunch and pretend he was “passing by.” Sometimes we sit in his car for an hour, talking about everything and nothing, like we’re trying to make up for all the months we lost. And every single time, I catch myself wondering, what are we now? Friends? Exes with unfinished business? Two people circling something that still burns between them but neither brave enough to touch it? He’s softer these days. I notice it in the way he listens, how he apologizes when he slips, how he doesn’t try to fill the silence. He even laughs more, they’re these real, unrestrained laughs that always catch me off guard. I’ve learned new things about him too. He's told me about his past, and

𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 Dante rises from his seat. The light from the window hits his face, those deep blue eyes, that sharp jawline, the faint stubble that makes him look both refined and devastatingly human. He’s dressed simply: a dark blue sweater that fits too well, sleeves rolled to his elbows, black trousers and a watch gleaming faintly on his wrist. He looks a little older, but a lot calmer. And in all, a lot more devastatingly beautiful. Then his lips stretch into a slow smile. And he spreads his arms. Before I can even think, I walk straight into them. He wraps me up instantly, his arms strong and warm, his heartbeat loud against my ear. For a moment, everything just fades and the only thing in my focus is just him, being wrapped around him as his woodsy scent envelops my senses. When we finally pull apart, he cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone as he looks down at me like I’m something miraculous. His lips curve slightly. “It’s so good to see you.” I bite my lip, unabl

𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!” The room erupts in laughter and clapping as everyone joins in, their voices mixing with the faint music from the speakers. I can’t help but blush, my cheeks burning hot as Mauve and Marisol cheer the loudest. Dad’s clapping off-beat, grinning from ear to ear. My employees have crowded around, phones in hand, taking pictures and recording videos. “Make a wish, Miss Alera!” someone shouts. I close my eyes, inhaling softly as I lean toward the cake. And for a brief moment, I remember another birthday, just last year. Outside, under the stars, in that quiet garden Dante built for me. The sound of crickets. His hands around my waist. His deep voice humming something soft while we danced on the grass. The memory tugs sharply at my chest, but I push it away. That was then. This… this is now. I open my eyes, smile, and blow out the candles. Cheers burst around me. My team whoops and claps. Mauve squeezes me into a

𝘿𝘼𝙉𝙏𝙀 Mama returns a few minutes later with a file clutched to her chest. The way she holds it, carefully, almost reverently, makes my stomach twist. “What's that?” I ask, even though I already have a guess. She doesn’t answer. Her eyes are soft, but they are accompanied by an invisible weight in them now. She walks back to the bed, sits, and places the file on her lap. And in that moment, my heart sinks. I know exactly what this is about. No. Not again. “Mama…” I start, shaking my head. “Please don’t.” She exhales, ignoring my plea. “Before mio padre died,” she begins calmly, “he wrote a will. And in that will, he left a clause for who would inherit the family estate. You remember I told you he never had sons. Only me and my sister, Valeria. The first of us to give birth to a boy—” “Mama, stop,” I demand desperately. She keeps going, almost like she’s afraid if she stops, she’ll lose the courage to finish. “The first of us to give birth to a boy would have it w