Novels by Zeenoh

I was a nervous mess.The mirror reflected a version of me I barely recognized. White silk flowed over my frame like water, hugging me in places that reminded me I was alive, that I had survived long enough to get here. For a long moment, I just stared at the woman looking back at me, as though she were someone else entirely — someone stronger, freer, softer than the girl who once scrubbed her hands raw trying to forget she came from nothing.“Stop fidgeting with it, you’ll wrinkle the fabric.”My mother’s voice carried across the small bridal suite. It was steadier than I expected, but when I turned to her, I caught the gleam of tears already brimming in her eyes. She looked radiant herself, her hair pulled back neatly, her beautiful dress a pale blue that made her appear ten years younger.“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered, her hands covering her mouth. “My daughter. My little girl.”I laughed lightly, but it cracked at the edges. “I’m not little anymore, Mom.”Her

I hadn’t planned on visiting Mason.If I was honest, I didn’t think I ever wanted to see him again.But Dean had asked me gently, late one night as we sat together on the balcony of his penthouse, the city lights winking beneath us. He hadn’t pushed. He just said softly, “He’s trying, Babe. And maybe… maybe hearing from you would help him finish what he’s started.”So here I was, standing in front of the wide oak doors of the private rehabilitation center tucked deep in the countryside. It looked less like a clinic and more like an old estate converted into something new with its sprawling gardens, high windows, and air so clean it felt almost wrong to breathe it after years in the city.The receptionist had recognized me immediately, her brows twitching in surprise before smoothing into a professional smile. “Mr. Caldwell will be very glad to see you.”I doubted that. Mason had never been glad to see me. He had only wanted to own me, to parade me like a prize. That was never love.Bu

LANIThe laughter was still spilling out of me by the time Dean tugged me down the cobblestoned street, his hand warm and steady wrapped around mine. The narrow alley opened into a wide square where the faint smell of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon sugar drifted on the cool air. Tourists were gathered near little shops, cameras flashing, while locals sat outside cafés, sipping espresso as if time itself slowed for them.We’d been wandering all morning, ducking in and out of antique shops and tiny boutiques, pretending we were just another couple on vacation. It was almost too easy to forget everything we’d left behind— Caldwell Holdings, the trial, the chaos of the last few years. For once, I wasn’t looking over my shoulder or preparing for another battle.Dean squeezed my hand, drawing me back to him. “You’re quiet,” he said softly, his voice carrying that mix of warmth and curiosity that always disarmed me.“I’m not quiet,” I said, though my tone was more thoughtful than playful. “I

The conference room was suffocating.Not because of the size—Caldwell Holdings had spared no expense when it came to intimidating spaces. The long mahogany table gleamed under recessed lights, leather chairs lined both sides, and the wall of glass overlooked the city I had spent my entire life trying to conquer. But right now, it wasn’t grandeur I felt. It was decay.The air reeked of fear.One by one, the board members shuffled papers, avoided eye contact, and cleared their throats like cowards preparing to abandon ship. And that ship… was mine.“I think we need to be realistic, Dean,” said Harris, one of our oldest board members. His voice cracked, and his eyes darted nervously around the table. “The fallout from the trial has… well, it’s gutted us. Public trust is gone. Investors are gone. We can’t sustain this.”I leaned back in my chair, jaw tight. “We’ve weathered storms before. We survived recessions, bad press, and all sorts of other things. This company doesn’t get to crumble

DEANIt was 2am when the phone rang. Everyone knows such an hour was too quiet for good news.I almost didn’t answer. I’d been pacing the penthouse, restless, flipping through documents for the case, but not reading them. Lani had fallen asleep on the couch, her head bent against a pillow, her breathing soft and steady. For one foolish second, I considered letting the call go to voicemail.But something in my chest twisted, and I picked it up.“Mr. Caldwell?” The voice on the other end was firm, clinical. A doctor. “It’s your father. I think you should come. Now.”The room swayed around me. I didn’t realize my hand was trembling until the phone nearly slipped from it.“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”___I don’t remember the drive to the hospital. I only remember the sterile light of the hospital corridor as I rushed down it, my shoes loud against the tiles. I remember the smell of disinfectant and metal, and the weight in my chest that grew heavier with each step.When I entered th

Dean poured two fingers of whiskey into his glass, then pushed the decanter away as though the very act of touching it repulsed him. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw locked, and though the city stretched glittering beyond the penthouse windows, his eyes were fixed on nothing.I curled my legs under me on the sofa, nursing a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. The silence between us was brittle and fragile, the kind that felt like if either of us spoke too suddenly, it would shatter.Finally, Dean exhaled, a heavy sound. “He’s not stopping.”I looked up, my chest tightening. “What did you hear this time?” I didn’t have to ask, I knew he was talking about Mason.His mouth pressed into a thin line. He didn’t look at me when he answered. “Last week it was a fight in some nightclub. Yesterday it was an arrest outside a strip of bars in Midtown. Today…” He rubbed his temple with his thumb, frustration edging his voice. “Today, apparently, he totaled one of the cars.”“Mason?” My voic