Novels by Queen Ella

Layla’s phone buzzed on her nightstand just as she was slipping into bed. She squinted at the screen, the blue glow lighting her tired face.Ethan: "Did you survive lunch with your friends?"She let out a quiet laugh, biting her lip. Of course he remembered. Of course he had the nerve to phrase it like she’d just endured a combat mission instead of gossip over overpriced salads.Her thumbs hovered above the screen as she typed, erased, and re-typed. She didn’t want to sound too defensive, but she also didn’t want him to think she’d been raving about him. Because she hadn’t… right?Finally, she wrote: "Barely. They interrogated me like FBI agents who skipped breakfast."The “typing” dots popped up almost immediately, and that made her heart jolt faster than she cared to admit. He was waiting for her reply."And what did you tell them, fake girlfriend?"Layla groaned, burying her face in her pillow. He had to phrase it that way, didn’t he? Fake girlfriend. Like he needed to remind her t

Layla was already regretting agreeing to this lunch.The café was one of those sunny, bustling places her friends adored—oversized windows, plants spilling from hanging baskets, the smell of fresh croissants wafting through the air. It was charming. Too charming. The kind of place where people noticed things. Like flushed cheeks. Or sudden smiles. The little bell over the café door jingled as Layla stepped inside, shaking off the crisp morning air. She spotted them immediately—Nora, her best friend, with Sophie and Mia—already sitting at their favorite corner booth. Nora was waving like Layla had been gone for years instead of two days. Sophie had her sunglasses pushed up like a headband, dark curls framing her face, while Mia’s sleek blonde bob looked like it had stepped straight out of a hair commercial. Both Sophie and Mia wore matching mischievous smiles the moment Layla approached.“Finally!” Mia said as soon as Layla slid into the seat. “We thought you got kidnapped by your ho

Ethan stood outside Layla’s apartment door balancing two cardboard coffee cups in one hand and a paper bag tucked under his arm. He had spent the entire drive over telling himself it was just coffee, just a casual thank-you for last night, nothing more. But the memory of her laugh at the wedding, the way she had looked in that green "trouble" dress under the reception lights, kept intruding, turning “casual” into something dangerously close to personal.He’d dropped her off after the wedding, said goodnight like a gentleman, and gone home like he was supposed to. But the space between them now felt heavier than before, and he couldn’t quite shake the need to see her again — so here he was.He knocked twice, heart pounding harder than it should have for a man who’d been in front of a hundred wedding guests the night before giving a best man speech.The door opened slowly, and there she was—hair messy from sleep, one side of her oversized T-shirt slipping down to reveal her shoulder. Sh

Ethan’s alarm went off at eight-thirty, but he’d been awake for nearly an hour. Not because he was worried about traffic. Not because he needed to iron his shirt. Because of her. Layla. They’d agreed on this arrangement. Fake dating. A mutual favor. Nothing complicated. No emotions. Except…he’d spent half the week thinking about the way she’d looked under the warm rooftop lights two nights ago. How she’d laughed at one of his bad jokes, not because she had to, but because she actually thought it was funny. The memory stuck to him like static. But now, staring at his ceiling in the pale morning light, Ethan wasn’t thinking about the wedding he was about to attend. He was thinking about how Layla would look in whatever dress she’d picked. He was thinking about how she’d stand beside him, smiling that bright, slightly dangerous smile she wore when she was about to charm an entire room. And, okay — maybe he was thinking about how she’d react when his mother inevitably took one look

Ethan’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, the sharp ping of a dating app notification breaking through the quiet as he finished washing his coffee mug. He froze, water dripping from his fingers, before reaching for the screen. A match. Zoe. Her profile picture was cute, bright eyes and a crooked smile. The kind of girl he would've considered before Layla tangled her way into his life with Post-it notes and sarcasm.He stared at the screen, thumb hovering. This wasn’t a betrayal. It wasn’t even real. He and Layla weren’t real. Just a well-choreographed lie for mutual benefit. Right?So he typed back: "Hey, Zoe. Nice to meet you."He didn’t send it right away. Instead, he tapped the draft and saved it, just in case.---The rooftop event was too trendy for Ethan's taste. Fairy lights zigzagged above the crowd, indie music thumped softly under the buzz of conversation, and people held cocktail glasses like accessories. Layla thrived in it.She wore a burnt orange jumpsuit with wide le

Layla’s living room was dimly lit, laptop screen casting a soft glow on her face as she sat cross-legged on the floor. The air smelled like leftover pad thai and lavender candle smoke. Ethan sat beside her on the couch, flipping through swatches of gray-blue fabrics on his tablet—some project for a boutique hotel renovation.“Okay,” she said, squinting at her screen, “final verdict: you need new LinkedIn headshots. Your current one says, ‘I didn’t sleep before this was taken.’”“I didn’t,” he said. “That was the week we pulled three all-nighters in a row. I was practically feral.”Layla laughed and reached for her water. “Feral, but still employed. Impressive.”He grinned. “You're a tough boss, you know.”“And you’re still letting me fake-date you. That’s saying something.”They lapsed into a comfortable silence, both absorbed in their screens. Then—ding.Layla’s phone lit up on the floor between them. A message preview flashed across the top:Jay: *"Miss me yet?"Layla’s stomach flip