Novels by Ranya Vale

The sunlight spilled into the boutique through the tall windows, catching the fabrics in a golden glow. I paused at the entrance, letting my eyes wander over every corner. The racks, the sketches, the small details everywhere whispered stories of persistence, of struggle, and of choices I had made and owned. Each corner carried a memory, each fold of fabric a reminder of who I had been and who I had become. Julian stood behind me, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. He did not need to say anything. His presence alone reminded me that I had not walked this path alone. I breathed in the quiet of the morning, the ordinary noise of the city outside fading to nothing, and for the first time in years, I felt completely still. I moved slowly toward the counter, where Claudia had left a note earlier. She always knew the right words. You have done it. You have carried everything forward and made it yours. The words pressed gently against my chest. I had carried so much in my life—the sh

The room had settled into a calm hush after the final reveal, the quiet almost sacred. I let my eyes wander over the designs, each piece a chapter of my life, stitched with my fears, my triumphs, and my resilience. It felt strange to look at them without the pressure of judgment, without the sharp edges of expectation slicing through my chest. Julian stayed close, his presence grounding me as I walked among the displays. “It’s like a lifetime wrapped up in silk and thread,” he said quietly, letting his words float between us. I nodded, tracing the hem of a gown that had once been ripped during a rehearsal. “Every tear, every late night, every failure—I’ve carried them here,” I said softly. “And now they’re part of something whole.” Simone moved to my side, her eyes scanning the room. “It’s breathtaking,” she said, her voice low, almost reverent. “I can see the little girl who started this, the woman who fought through everything, and the person standing here now. You’ve bridged the

The first guests settled into their seats, small wooden chairs arranged in a semicircle around the central display. I stood quietly at the back, letting my eyes linger on the designs one last time. Each piece told a story I had lived: the folded sketches of sleepless nights, the flowing dresses that had been stitched with hope and tears, and the sharp-edged jackets that had been forged in defiance. Julian slipped in beside me, offering a calm smile. “You’re trembling,” he whispered softly. “I’m not,” I said quickly, though my chest tightened. “I’m… aware. That’s all.” Claudia shifted in her seat, glancing at the first sketchbook I handed around. “These… these are incredible,” she said. “I can see every version of you, every moment you’ve lived through.” Simone reached for the sketchbook, her fingers brushing mine briefly. “It’s like stepping into a memory,” she murmured. “I feel every struggle, every victory… every loss.” I nodded, keeping my voice soft. “That’s what I hoped. Not

The morning light spilled lazily through the boutique windows, falling in warm pools across the worn wooden floors. Dust floated in the beams, catching in a way that made the air itself feel alive. I walked slowly among the tables, smoothing fabrics, arranging sketches, and adjusting mannequins, as though every careful movement stitched me back into the person I had always been meant to become. Noelle followed quietly, her fingers brushing the silk and cotton as if testing for its memory. “This one feels like your old self,” she said softly, “but stronger. More certain. More… you.” I nodded, letting my hand linger on a skirt I had designed ten years ago, a piece that had survived countless failures and rejections. “It’s what this show is for,” I murmured. “To see the journey, from the girl I was to the woman I am now.” Claudia arrived next, carrying a small bouquet of wildflowers she had chosen from a nearby market. “I thought you might like something living in here,” she said with

By mid-afternoon, the designers had settled into a rhythm. Noelle moved among them, offering pointers, encouragement, and the occasional gentle correction. I watched, a quiet pride swelling in my chest. One young designer, shy and hesitant, held up a finished sketch. “I… I wasn’t sure about this part,” she admitted. “The sleeve, the cut, the fabric… I wasn’t confident.” I leaned closer, studying the lines carefully. “It’s beautiful,” I said, smiling. “The sleeve gives movement, and the fabric choice brings out the elegance of the design. Confidence comes from knowing you’re listening to both your heart and your hands.” She blinked, relief washing over her face. “Really?” she asked. “Really,” I confirmed. “You’ve got the instincts. Trust them. We’ll refine together, but this is yours first.” Claudia came up behind her, nodding approvingly. “See? It’s already coming to life,” she said softly. “You just needed someone to remind you it was okay to try.” Simone was crouched beside an

The evening fell gently outside the boutique, the sun painting the street in muted golds and soft shadows. Inside, the designers were packing their tools and sketchbooks, their faces glowing with satisfaction and exhaustion. I watched them, a quiet pride swelling in my chest, realizing the boutique had finally shifted from being mine alone to something living, breathing, and collective. Noelle stayed behind a moment longer, running her fingers over the fabrics still stacked on the worktable. “I didn’t realize how much weight this would carry,” she said softly, almost to herself. “But it feels… right. Like it was meant to be shared.” I smiled, walking over and placing a hand on her shoulder. “It was always meant to be shared,” I said. “The boutique isn’t a single person. It’s all the people who care enough to create something true.” Julian came up quietly behind me, his hand brushing mine. “They’re lucky to have you guiding them,” he said gently. “And lucky to have Noelle learnin

The headlines spread like wildfire. By morning, every major paper and gossip column had splashed my face across their pages, twisting a single stolen moment into a narrative that painted me as the villain. The Unfaithful Fiancée, the bold letters screamed, and beneath them were cruel words that made my stomach turn. Damian’s empire was spotless, his reputation untouchable, and now I had become the stain they wanted to drag across his name.By the time I made it downstairs, I could hear the muffled voices of his parents echoing through the hall. His mother’s sharp tone cut through the walls like knives, while his father’s deep baritone carried a weight of authority that made my knees weak before I even saw them. I stood frozen in the doorway of the sitting room, my hands trembling at my sides, as their eyes shifted toward me.“What on earth have you done?” his mother hissed, her pearls catching the morning light as though even they disapproved of me. She looked me up and down with a sn

Damian’s words hung in the night like the crack of a whip. Take your hands off my wife. It wasn’t loud, but the force behind it made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I could feel Adrian stiffen beside me, his grip on my hand faltering as though he’d just realized how close he was to crossing a line he couldn’t step back from.Adrian’s lips curved into a cruel smile, his voice low enough that it felt meant only for me, though I knew Damian heard every word.“Have you forgotten, Evelyn? You’re carrying my child. The world might not see through the facade you’re living, but the truth will come out. And when it does, there won’t be any ring or name strong enough to hide it.”I hated to admit it but he was right. I yanked my hand free like his touch had burned me, stumbling a step backward. My breath came in sharp bursts, too fast, too shallow, and I couldn’t seem to catch it. The silence between us felt dangerous, like standing in the middle of a storm with lightning about to strike

The ride back from Damian’s parents’ estate was quiet, but inside I was a storm. The note in my clutch felt heavier than gold, its words etched into my mind like a curse: Don’t marry him. Meet me tonight. My fingers brushed over the fabric, over the folded paper hidden inside, and no matter how I tried to look calm beside Damian, my chest was racing.When we reached the house, he disappeared into his study without a word, leaving me in the dim silence of the living room. I sat on the edge of the couch, clutch tight against me, my nails digging into the leather strap. The clock ticked too loudly, each second sounding like a warning, but still I couldn’t shake the pull of those words.I told myself it was probably nothing, a cruel joke, maybe even an enemy of Damian’s trying to get in my head. I told myself I should throw the note in the fire and let it burn to ash before it consumed me. But when I tried to move, my legs refused to obey.By the time the clock chimed nine, the decision w

I could feel the knot in my stomach tightening as the car pulled into the long driveway of the Blackwood estate. The last dinner with Damian’s parents had left me raw, their cold stares and sharp questions slicing deeper than any blade. I told myself I was ready for tonight, but my hands wouldn’t stop trembling in my lap.Damian sat beside me, calm as ever, his profile unreadable as he stared out the tinted window. He looked like a man going into battle, though one he was certain he would win. I envied his composure, even as I wondered if he noticed how stiff my breathing had become.“You’ll be fine,” he murmured, almost as if reading my thoughts. His hand brushed against mine for the briefest second before retreating. It wasn’t tenderness—it felt more like reassurance, a reminder that appearances mattered too much to let me falter.The estate loomed ahead, lit like a palace under the evening sky. I pressed my palms together in my lap, whispering a prayer I wasn’t even sure who I want

I woke up later than usual, sunlight spilling gently across the room. The space beside me was empty, the sheets already cold, and I knew Damian had left for work hours ago. For a moment I stayed there in the quiet, letting the warmth of the morning wrap around me, before I stretched and pressed a hand to my stomach. My eye caught the ring Damian had given me. It had caught the light, sparkling faintly as though it was alive. The stone was not too large or too small, just enough to draw the eye without overwhelming it. A single diamond sat in the center, clear and steady, and the band was smooth and slim, resting so naturally on my finger that it almost felt like it had always belonged there. There was a quiet elegance to it, timeless and unpretentious, a reflection of something deeper than wealth or show. As I traced the band with my thumb, the memories of the night before washed over me. Dinner had felt like a turning point, but what came after left me shaken in a way I could

It had been two days since the party, but the echoes of that night still lingered in me. Adrian’s grip, his voice, his note—they had carved themselves into my skin, into my mind. Yet what surprised me most was not the fear that still clung to me, but Damian. He has been acting strange and totally different. He had not been distant since that night.Sophia and I had become closer too. Whenever she found a free moment from her duties, she stayed by my side. Sometimes we folded baby clothes together, sometimes we just talked about nothing at all. Her quiet company had a way of keeping the silence from swallowing me whole. Damian came home early the next day, something he had not done in months. Instead of heading straight to his study, he joined me for dinner. We sat across from each other at the long table, but for the first time in so long, it did not feel like an empty ritual. He asked me how my day had been, if I had eaten enough, if the twins had been restless. I answered cautio

She stared at her reflection longer than usual that morning. Not because she liked what she saw. Not because she was trying to gather confidence or wrap herself in reassurance. She stared because something had shifted beneath the surface of her face, and she wasn’t sure yet what it was. The mirror gave nothing away. It reflected the curve of her jaw, the calm line of her mouth, the sweep of her hair tied back with careful precision. But there was a stillness in her eyes she hadn’t noticed before. A silence that didn’t used to be there.The mug in her hand had gone cold. She hadn’t taken more than a few sips, though she’d filled it with her usual. Black coffee. No sugar. No softness.Behind her, the rest of the room remained untouched. Her bed was neatly made. The robe she had worn earlier was folded at the foot. There were no signs of chaos. Nothing out of place. And yet she felt as though something had been torn apart inside her and quietly rearranged in a way she

Ivy stepped into the penthouse office where Victor always began his mornings. The air still carried the scent of leather and dark wood, the faint note of expensive cologne lingering like a benediction. The city stretched below them in glass and steel, indifferent to the weight of what happened inside these walls. She held a stack of papers in her hand, one of her recent product reports, printed and bound neatly. She could feel her pulse settle into a rhythm as she crossed the threshold, placing the documents on the desk before him. He did not look up immediately. He folded his hands in front of him, fingers pressed together as though holding something fragile. The silence between them thickened for a moment before he reached out and opened the top page. Ivy stood quietly at attention, her chin lifted, her shoulders even. She did not expect praise, not this morning. She expected scrutiny. She leaned into the sharp awareness of his gaze without flinching.

The morning at Halden arrived in muted light that made the polished lobby shimmer like glass warmed by dawn. People moved through the space with quiet purpose, their heels clicking softly on marble floors, their voices carried in hushed tones. Ivy paused at the threshold for a moment, breathing in the subtle shift beneath the façade. It was not a look or a whisper that told her something had changed. It was a gentle pressure in the atmosphere, as though the building itself had exhaled and was now giving her room to settle deeper into her own skin.She crossed the entry hall with steady steps, feeling the weight of her own awareness pressing against the crisp folds of her blouse. She had dressed to be unseen, but instead she felt undeniable. The blouse draped cleanly, free of wrinkle. The tailored slacks hugged her hips just enough to feel respectful of form and restraint. Each movement was deliberate. Even as the ache lingered from the night before, she did not give any sign. No favor

The morning after did not begin with sunlight or softness. There was no stretch of comfort, no lazy warmth between their bodies. There was only the ache that clung to her like a second skin, familiar and silent.It was not pain. Not in the way most people would describe it. It was a deeper kind of reminder. Something that lived inside the strain of her muscles and the faint resistance in her thighs each time she tried to move. Her skin still held the memory of his grip, and when she shifted slightly to sit upright, the whisper of that memory ran down the length of her spine and settled low in her belly.Victor had not been careless. He never moved without intent. Every touch, every command, every motion he made carried with it a purpose that did not ask for permission. Ivy knew that now. She had known it the night before, and she felt it even more clearly now, in the quiet stillness that filled the room.She sat at the edge of the bed without reaching for the robe that had been left f

The silence in the car was not a peaceful one. It sat between them like something carefully constructed, designed to last the entire ride home. Ivy could feel it stretch with each passing block, dense and unyielding, the kind of silence that took shape around a man like Victor. He did not fidget. He did not glance over. His hand rested calmly on the wheel, his posture steady and controlled as though every muscle in his body had been trained not to reveal a single thought. She didn’t speak either. The seat beneath her felt too warm. The dress she wore still carried the weight of every stare it had drawn, every whisper it had provoked. Her skin tingled beneath the silk, not from shame, but from something more tangled. She had wanted to be seen. She had allowed it. And now she waited, not for punishment, but for what always came after. That moment when Victor reminded her that no matter who had looked, no matter what had been offered in glances or drinks or subtle provoc

The ballroom had not quieted. The voices still murmured across polished marble. Glasses still clinked against their partners. Soft music still wound its way through the air like silk. But something had changed.Ivy felt it. In her chest. In the subtle hush around the edges of the room. In the way people no longer pretended they weren’t watching.Victor had kissed her, and not in a way meant to suggest tenderness. It had been a claim, exact and final. A reminder delivered with precision, timed not to wound her, but to wound everyone else.And she had let him.Not because she was afraid.Not because she wanted to provoke the man in the gray suit who had looked at her like she was something on a menu.She had let Victor kiss her because the moment it happened, everything inside her calmed. It was not the kiss itself. It was what it meant. It was what it said louder than the music and louder than her silence.She was his.