Novels by Nuella King

Emma’s POVI didn’t speak to Xander the entire morning.I moved through the penthouse like a ghost, brushing past him without a glance, letting my silence carve space between us. Every time he tried to say something, I either left the room or turned up the volume of whatever I was doing. I refused to give him what he wanted: a confrontation he could control.Not this time.My phone was blowing up with calls from unknown numbers, messages from accounts I didn’t recognize. Half the internet thought I was Xander Blake’s mistress. The other half thought I was a gold digger. No one was close to the truth.And the truth? It didn’t matter anymore. Not when the world had already picked a side.I stood by the balcony doors, watching the city thrum below, a steaming mug of untouched tea in my hands. My reflection in the glass looked calm. But inside, I was lava.Behind me, I heard his footsteps."Emma," he said quietly.I didn’t turn."I didn’t leak anything. I didn’t even tell anyone."I said

Emma’s POV“They’re going to announce it.”Danielle’s voice echoed long after the call ended.I stood in the penthouse kitchen, spoon in hand, absentmindedly stirring a now-forgotten cup of chamomile tea. The liquid had gone cold—just like the pit settling deep in my stomach.Our wedding.The one I signed in silence... for revenge, behind locked emotions.The one I was not ready to share with the world.“They’re going to make it public,” I whispered.Across the kitchen, Xander leaned against the counter, arms folded, phone face down on the marble. His expression unreadable but his jaw? Tight.“You knew?” I asked quietly.He didn’t speak immediately.That half-second pause? It was enough.“You knew.”“Danielle called me first,” he said slowly. “I was going to tell you tonight.”“Right,” I snapped. “After dessert? Or maybe during the press conference?”He moved toward me. “Emma, I told them not to say anything until we agreed. But you know how my mother is.”“I don’t care what your moth

Emma’s POVThey say the price of being close to power is the constant sound of your name being whispered. I just didn’t expect mine to be screamed across every gossip blog in Manhattan.The morning began with a text from Bella.Bella: Girl... You need to check Page Six.I blinked the sleep from my eyes, fumbling for my phone with one hand while pushing tangled hair off my face with the other. Xander had already left for the office, which I appreciated. I needed space—something I wasn’t getting enough of since I moved into the penthouse.I clicked the link Bella sent, and there it was, bold and unmissable:“CEO Xander Blake Spotted With Mystery Woman — Mistress or Secretary?”I stared at the headline for a full minute before my heart caught up to the words. Below it was a blurry photo. My face was turned away, but the curve of my jaw, my ponytail, the dress I'd worn three days ago when Xander had dragged me to an event—it was unmistakable. I was getting into his car, head down, while h

Emma's POVI know he’s given me a job—but I still need freedom.I want something outside of him. Outside of this penthouse. Outside of the way he looks at me like he’s waiting for me to vanish.Technically, I work at Blake & Rowe. Technically, I have an office with a view and a fancy badge that lets me through executive elevators. But everyone there knows I’m Mrs. Blake first, and a project analyst second. Half the time, people ask if I want sparkling water or if I need help opening Excel.No, Karen. I can handle pivot tables. I just don’t want to pivot my whole life around a man I barely understand.So today, I did what any woman in desperate need of breathing room would do.I applied for another job.Not a glamorous one. Nothing that screamed I married into billions. Just a quiet, normal admin position at a nonprofit a few blocks from Central Park. I used a fake last name. I didn’t mention Blake & Rowe. I even wore flats and tied my hair into a low bun to look less like someone who

Emma's POV I’ve always hated mornings. They’re smug and intrusive. Like, who gave the sun the right to barge in and slap me across the face with light when I’m still trying to mentally recover from being emotionally sabotaged by my dreams? Today was no different. Except it was. Because I woke up wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets that cost more than my entire college tuition, in a guest room bigger than my old apartment, in a penthouse owned by the man I drunkenly married and contractually agreed to tolerate. Xander Blake. CEO. Billionaire. Broody Greek god impersonator. And the human equivalent of a very expensive headache. I stretched, groaned, and sat up. My hair was a bird’s nest. My mouth tasted like regret and chamomile tea. And somewhere in the apartment, Frank Sinatra was crooning something romantic at full volume. I walked into the hallway, barefoot, groggy, and mildly homicidal. Xander was in the kitchen. In gray sweatpants. Gray. Sweatpants. No shirt. Just him,

Robert’s Apartment – Late Evening The air in Robert’s penthouse smelled like cinnamon, red wine, and something faintly bitter underneath—burning wax, maybe, or the lingering scent of guilt neither of them would acknowledge. The city buzzed far below them, lights flickering like stars scattered across concrete. But inside the penthouse, it was quiet, almost too quiet. Diane lay sprawled across Robert’s bare chest, the silk sheet draped lazily across her waist. Her makeup had smudged just slightly—the faint line of eyeliner now a smoky shadow beneath her eyes, her lipstick a dark smudge against his collarbone. He absentmindedly twirled a strand of her hair around his finger as she stared at the ceiling. "Something's wrong," Diane murmured. Robert didn’t look at her. "You always say that after sex." She didn’t laugh. She never did when it was real. "I’m serious," she said, lifting herself onto her elbow. "Do you think she knows?" "Knows what?" Diane's gaze narrowed. "That we pl