Novels by Anais SwiftPen

05Recurring Dreams“Patricia, eat up,” Tessy urged, nudging her half-eaten food into Patricia's bowl.Patricia wrinkled her nose. “Aren’t you going to eat?”“I’m full,” Tessy replied quickly, though her voice was unsteady. Her vision swam, her head began to throb, and a strange weight settled in her chest.“We have to…” Her words trailed off as pain lanced through her skull, sharp and sudden.Everything around her faded, Patricia’s voice, the dingy kitchen, even the smell of watery beans. In a blink, Tessy was elsewhere.She gasped, spinning around. The orphanage. The grey, moldy walls, the cold dirt ground, the echoing chaos of children’s voices, it was all too familiar, yet far away. A large crowd of children circled something in the distance. Her heartbeat spiked.

04The Silent Attraction Ryan descended the stairs, dressed in a grey t-shirt and knee-length shorts, his hair slightly tousled, his features as effortlessly charming as ever. The scent of baked goods and fresh morning air filled the cozy home.“Grams, good morning once again,” he greeted, leaning in to kiss her cheek.Grams beamed. “Oh, my grandson! The sweetest of them all,” she said, patting his hand fondly.Ryan’s eyes swept across the living room, subtle but searching.“Who are you looking for?” Grams asked, noticing the way his gaze shifted around.He cleared his throat, trying not to seem too obvious. “Erm... where are the kids?”Grams wiped her hands on a towel and made her way toward the kitchen. “They’re in their house next door. But Tessy’s here. That’s actually why I called you.” She paused, then turned to face him. “Can you help her out in the garden? Bruno’s out today, and I don’t want her to handle it alone. She has a shift later at the café and I worry it’ll be too mu

03Uninvited IntrusionsThe elevator chimed and slid open, inviting movement but the moment its passengers came into view, the crowd waiting to enter froze. All chatter ceased, fingers twitched, and faces paled. One glance was all it took to cause the shift. They retreated in unison, instinctively stepping aside.“Miss Veronica,” someone whispered under their breath, heads bowing with fearful reverence.A lady in a red figure hugging dress emerged, her auburn dyed hair shimmering under the corridor lights. Veronica Smith carried herself like a queen returning to her court except everyone would rather not be her subject. Her heels clicked against the marble with practiced precision, echoing a warning through the corridor. Trouble had arrived.She brushed a hand through her thick curls, revealing faint signs of dye damage. Whatever reason had brought her to the Smith Corporation today, it was clearly more personal than professional.She swept past them with barely a glance, her jaw set,

02 The summer invitation IIA sleek black Mercedes Benz pulled up in front of a modest bungalow nestled within a middle class neighborhood. The street was lined with similar looking houses, each mirroring the next in design except for the two homes at the far end. These stood out, more refined in upkeep, aura, design, and structure. It was in front of one of them that the luxury car came to a smooth halt.Two children on the lawn looked up as the car parked. Their eyes widened with awe."Oh gracious goodness, that’s the latest Benz! The owner must be a big shot," Bruno exclaimed, straightening his posture. His dusty brown hair fluttered in the breeze as if echoing his excitement.The girl beside him clutched his sleeve. Barely twelve, Patricia was sharp and endlessly curious."Do you think it’s Grams’ guest? Should I go call her?" she asked, her eyes fixed on the car.Bruno didn’t respond. His attention was on the man now stepping out.The driver opened the door, and a young man emer

01Summer invitation“I don’t need a vacation. I need him.”Ryan Smith’s voice cracked through the room, sharp and angry. He threw the paper onto the marble table, frustration creasing his brow as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “He doesn’t get it, does he?”Margaret stood silently across the room, her eyes heavy with emotion she wouldn’t let spill. She had raised him since birth, fed him, soothed his cries, clapped for his first steps. She was everything his real mother couldn’t be. His mother had died giving birth to him, and his father had checked out emotionally ever since.Light spilled into the room as Margaret stepped forward, her features sharp but soft with concern. She looked too young to carry the weight she did, early thirties, porcelain skin, tired eyes. The years have been kind to her face but unkind to her heart. “You have to go, Ryan,” she said, steady and sure. “Your grandmother is expecting you. It’ll do you good to spend time with her.” Ryan turned toward the w