Novel-novel oleh Sira lyn

The question rang in her ears. She wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly.His father?He stared at her expectantly, those sharp eyes trained on her in a way that was having the exact opposite effect he probably intended. Instead of intimidating her into submission, they made her feel hot. In all the wrong places.“I will not repeat myself,” he warned.The sharp warning rapidly cooled the flames that had been building in her, making her suddenly aware of the car’s air conditioner against her skin. This was serious. The man wasn’t joking. Whatever playfulness had existed moments ago was gone. The smiles had faded, and his face left no room to doubt his words.Wrapping her arms around herself, she answered briefly.“I don’t know your father.”“You don’t know Thomas Hardy,” he shot back, disbelief sharp in his tone. “The wealthiest man in this city.” He scoffed. “His face graced every goddamn paper and magazine last month during his funeral. You’re going to need to come up with a more c

Amidst the chaos, Damien strolled through the room, heading toward the stage. A strange, new calm had descended into the place, replacing the cacophony with an electric tension shocked anticipation and curious silence.Media personnel had their cameras trained on him, lenses swiveling as he moved. He knew in the next five minutes, every entrance and exit in this building would be blocked, reporters clamoring for a statement, a photograph, any movement from him.So many questions would follow. Why was he here? Why participate in the event? Why choose a “leftover” woman as his wife? Did he know her before this moment? Had she been placed in this position deliberately?But Damien’s attention was fixed. His eyes found her. The woman who had, unknowingly or not, destroyed his plans. The woman he was meeting for the first time yet whose existence seemed to dominate his life. The woman his father had loved more than him. She was powerful in a way that unsettled him, and he would uncove

Damien twirled the pen lazily between his fingers, his shoulders leaning back against the leather chair as he studied the board members through hooded eyes.They sat around the long glass table like a jury, faces stern, hands folded, pretending this wasn’t already his decision to make. The faint ticking of a wall clock was the only sound beyond the soft rustle of papers and the occasional cough from someone attempting to hide their impatience.In front of them lay the expansion proposal. His proposal.It was bold. Risky. Expensive. The kind of move that made conservative men sweat and visionaries lean forward. If approved, it would drain a significant portion of the company’s liquid assets. If it failed, shareholders would howl. If it succeeded, Hardy Global would dominate the market for the next decade.Damien had no doubt which outcome mattered.Harold Whitman cleared his throat.The sound alone irritated Damien.“This is… a very bold move, sonny,” Harold said, peering over his glas

Emily arrived at Cupid’s House just as the sun dipped low, the sky blushing pink behind the towering white gates. The place looked nothing like a facility meant to decide women’s futures. It looked like a resort. Tall iron gates swung open silently, revealing a long curved driveway lined with palm trees wrapped in twinkling lights. The mansion itself rose at the center, all white stone and glass balconies, glowing warmly as if it welcomed everyone equally. Emily knew better. She stepped out of the car with her overnight bag clutched tightly in her hand. The driver didn’t wish her luck. Didn’t say a word. He simply nodded and drove off, leaving her standing alone at the foot of the stairs. A woman in a crisp white suit approached immediately, tablet in hand. “Emily Harlow?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “Yes.” “Welcome to Cupid’s House. Phones on silent. Cameras are everywhere. What you say here may be used on air.” Her smile was polite, professional, empty. “Follow me.

Roan’s feet pounded against the wet pavement as he ran through the parking lot. Rain hammered down on him, soaking through his clothes until he felt it against his skin. But he didn’t care. She’s leaving. The thought pushed him faster. His lungs burned, but he kept running. He’d been through this terminal a hundred times before. Never like this. Never with his heart trying to rip itself out of his chest. Then he saw Melanie. She was standing by the tracks, one small suitcase beside her. Her hand was closed tight, like she was holding onto her decision with everything she had. Roan’s throat suddenly closed up. He wanted to call her name, but nothing came out. Just then the train pulled up with a screech of metal. Doors slid open. Voices blended together. The final call echoed through the terminal. She grabbed her suitcase and walked toward it. Then, like she felt him watching, she turned. Their eyes met. Him, dripping wet and desperate. Her, one step away from leaving foreve

"Emily Harlow.”Her name thundered through the speakers, echoing across the studio and into the waiting room like a public sentence.For a moment, Emily didn’t move.Her fingers tightened around the thin fabric of her gown as the reality settled in. This was it. No turning back. No escape.She was about to beg for a husband on a national television show.She drew in a breath, slow and careful, but the air barely filled her lungs before the corset bit sharply into her ribs. Whoever had laced it had pulled too tight, cinching her waist into something fragile and ornamental. Beauty over comfort. Always.She swallowed the discomfort down.“This way,” a stagehand said, already pulling the curtain aside.Emily stepped forward.The corridor was dim and narrow, but the noise ahead was anything but. Laughter. Applause. The excited murmur of an audience that hadn’t come for love, but for spectacle.The curtain opened.Light exploded around her.For a heartbeat, she was blind. White-hot stage li