Novels by Delancyquin

Mira's P.O.VThe ride back to the mansion felt endless. I kept my eyes pinned to the window, watching the blur of trees and fading sky, pretending to be absorbed by them when in truth I was counting my own heartbeats. My hand was tight around the edge of my coat, nails pressing into the fabric. Every minute dragged, and when the iron gates finally appeared, my chest tightened even more.The guards moved quickly when the car stopped, opening the gates without a word. Still, I noticed the way their gaze lingered on me through the tinted glass—longer than usual, sharp in a way that made my skin crawl. Luca must have said something. I forced myself to sit still, not to fidget, not to betray the heat rising to my cheeks.The crunch of gravel under the tires filled my ears. When the mansion came into view, glowing under the last light of dusk, I suddenly didn’t see it as home. Tonight, it looked like something else entirely—tall and watchful, its windows like un

Mira’s P.O.V The door swung inward with a weight that made my breath seize. I braced for Luca’s broad frame, his dark stare ready to strip the truth out of me. But it wasn’t Luca who entered. A nurse stepped inside instead, balancing a clipboard against her chest. Her eyes flicked between me and Elijah, sensing the tension that crackled in the air. “Doctor,” she said carefully. “There’s a call waiting for you. From the hospital.” Elijah’s jaw clenched. For a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze still fixed on me, as though afraid I would vanish if he looked away. Then, with visible effort, he nodded. “Tell them I’ll return the call shortly.” The nurse hesitated, glanced at me again, then slipped out, shutting the door softly behind her. I exhaled, slow and shaky. The silence that followed was louder than her footsteps. Elijah turned back to me, his expression taut. “You’re playing a

Mira’s P.O.V The morning came heavy, like the house itself was aware of the secret pressed against my skin. I moved through the routine with deliberate calm—sitting at breakfast with Luca, sipping the tea the maids poured, smiling when he asked if I felt well enough to eat. He studied me with that same quiet intensity. As though each word, each breath, was another puzzle piece he meant to fit into place. I could feel the receipt folded deep inside my robe pocket, hidden like a knife. “Elijah called,” Luca said suddenly, lifting his coffee cup without looking at me. His tone was casual, but my chest tightened. “He wants to check on you again this week. I’ll have someone drive you.” I forced my hand not to tighten on the spoon. Elijah. His name in Luca’s mouth was steady, untroubled, but to me it was a thunderclap. The same name I had found in Cassandra’s shadows. “Maybe,” I whispered, pretending indifference. “I’ll see if I feel up to it.” Luca’s gaze lifted, sharp, as though te

Mira’s P.O.VI didn’t return the journal to its hiding place.I couldn’t.Instead, I tucked it under folded clothes in the back of my wardrobe, close enough that I could reach it at night, hidden enough that Luca wouldn’t stumble on it. The act alone made my hands shake. I had never lied so boldly before, never carried a secret that pulsed like contraband in my chest.But now that I had Cassandra’s voice, her words inked in restless loops, there was no turning away.For days, I moved like a shadow in my own life. Luca noticed—I could feel it in the way his eyes lingered on me longer, his questions sharper, his touches almost too deliberate, like he was testing whether I would flinch. And sometimes I did. Sometimes I felt his hand on my shoulder and thought of Cassandra’s warnings written in hurried script: If I vanish, let this be proof.I should have been focused on the baby, on the small shifts in my body that came each morning. But every time I pressed a hand to my stomach, I thoug

Mira’s P.O.VThe journal pressed against my ribs felt like a second heartbeat. Even when Luca’s arm draped back over me, even as he drifted into sleep again, the weight of that leather-bound book refused to let me rest.I waited. Breath shallow, body still, counting the seconds until his breathing deepened into the slow rhythm of sleep. My fingers twitched against the sheets, aching to reach for the journal, to open it under the faint glow of the lamp. But his warmth was a cage, and I knew the slightest shift would wake him.So I endured.Hours stretched like days until the sky outside the curtains paled with the first light of dawn. Luca finally rolled onto his side, loosening his hold. My body slipped free from his like a shadow escaping a net. I pulled on my robe again, tucked the journal beneath it, and left the bedroom with my heart pounding so loud I swore it echoed in the hallway.The house had begun to stir—quiet movements of staff preparing breakfast, faint clatter from the k

Mira’s POV The mansion was never truly silent. Even at night, when the halls emptied and the lights dimmed, the house breathed. Pipes hummed, old wood creaked, wind whispered through the shutters. Most people ignored those sounds, but lying awake in bed beside Luca, I had learned to hear them all. That night, they felt louder. I turned on my side, careful not to wake him. Luca’s arm was draped heavy across my waist, his breath slow, steady, almost peaceful. But I couldn’t close my eyes. My mind was still in the study, still replaying the words he had spoken in a voice too sharp, too final: Bury it. For good. I slipped my hand under his, resting it against my stomach where the baby shifted faintly. Life moved inside me, fragile and stubborn. I knew then that rest would not come—not while questions pressed down like stones on my chest. Slowly, carefully, I eased out from under Luca’s arm. He stirred, murmured s

AMARA’S P.O.V The day stretched on like a punishment. I woke up with the blanket still tangled around me on the couch. My neck ached from the awkward angle I had curled into, and my back felt stiff, like even my body was protesting how I’d slept. The first few seconds were fog—then the silence hit me, thick and total. I turned my head toward the window. The curtains didn’t block much, just softened the light into a pale rectangle that stretched across the floor. Not bright. Not warm. Just late morning, maybe close to noon. Marcus still wasn’t home. My hand moved automatically toward my phone. I didn’t even think—just reached. The screen lit up and my stomach sank at the emptiness. No text. No call. Not from him. Not from Luke. Just notifications that had nothing to do with me. Discounts. Subscriptions. Useless reminders. All these things shouting about a world that was fine, untouched, while mine felt like it was quietly cracking in two. I sat there with the phone in my hand for

AMARA'S P.O.V The door closed with the softest click, but it reverberated in my bones like a gunshot. Silence followed—thick, oppressive, almost alive. I stayed standing there, one hand on the knob, forehead against the wood. My chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, as if part of me still expected him to knock again. To stay. To refuse to leave. But he didn’t. Luke was gone. And Marcus was still nowhere to be found. The house was too quiet, every shadow stretched thin by the early light seeping through the curtains. It wasn’t even morning yet, not fully—the world outside still wore that strange half-light where the sky can’t decide between night and day. I hated that hour. Too honest. Too raw. It exposed everything you’d tried to bury in the dark. I walked back toward the living room, but my legs felt like they were moving through water. The couch swallowed me the moment I sat down. My body sagged against the cushions, but my mind refused to rest. I kept hearing ech

AMARA'S P.O.V The message burned on the screen: I’m outside. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My hand went clammy around the phone, thumb hovering like I might erase the words just by touching them. But no, they stayed there, glowing, undeniable. I looked up at the window. The curtains were thin enough that faint morning light was starting to seep through. Grey, weak, not the golden kind you’d welcome—it was the kind that made everything look colder. My chest tightened. Outside. He was actually outside. I told myself not to move. To stay on the floor where I was, where my body had slumped against the wall after hours of waiting for Marcus. Just stay. Pretend I never saw it. Pretend I’m asleep. Pretend none of this is happening. But my legs moved anyway. Clumsy, stiff, like they weren’t mine. Each step felt like betrayal, but I kept walking toward the door. The hallway was quiet, too quiet. Even the creak of the floor under my feet sounded like a confession. My hand found the

AMARA'S P.O.V The space on the hook gaped at me like an open wound. One hook empty, one still holding my keys. His absence was loud, louder than any slammed door or shouted word. I couldn’t move. My body stayed frozen in the hallway, bare feet glued to the cold floor, eyes fixed on the missing keys as if staring long enough could summon him back. It was 2 a.m. What reason did a man have to leave at 2 a.m.? The seconds dragged, the clock ticking faintly above the doorway, each sound pounding inside my head. My fingers curled tighter around the edge of the table until my knuckles ached. I told myself not to spiral. Not to think of the worst. But the images came anyway, flooding me mercilessly. Marcus behind the wheel, jaw set, hands steady. Driving to—what? Another woman? A secret meeting? A place I had no part in? I squeezed my eyes shut, but that only made it worse. My imagination filled in the blanks with cruel efficiency. A dimly lit street. A door opening. His body leaning

AMARA'S P.O.V The cursor blinked. And blinked. And blinked. That stupid little line, pulsing like a heartbeat on a screen. Mocking me. Reminding me that I couldn’t even do the simplest thing—reply to a message. My thumbs hovered. I typed: Don’t come. Then erased it. I typed: Yes. Erased it too. Every letter felt like a commitment, a crack in the thin wall I was holding between myself and everything I wasn’t ready to face. Luke’s words just sat there on the screen: Do you want me to come? So simple. So sharp. I stared until the letters blurred. My chest tightened the way it always does when I’m caught between two choices I don’t want to make. My nails dug into my palm, leaving little crescents on my skin. I told myself I should delete the whole thread. Just erase it, erase him, erase everything. Pretend it wasn’t there. Pretend he wasn’t there. But I couldn’t bring myself to swipe left and hit delete. My body wouldn’t move. My thumb just hovered, trembling lik

AMARA’S P.O.V I stayed in the kitchen long after Marcus disappeared upstairs. My hands wrapped around the mug like it was the only thing keeping me steady, though the coffee inside had already gone cold. The porcelain pressed into my skin until my fingers turned red. I knew I should set it down before it slipped and shattered, but part of me almost wanted it to. Maybe the sound of something breaking would match what was happening inside me. The house felt heavier than usual. Like the walls were made of cement blocks stacked on my chest. Every corner was too quiet, too polished. Even the ticking of the clock on the wall grated against my nerves. I hated how normal everything looked when nothing about me felt normal anymore. I pressed my forehead against the counter, the marble cold enough to sting. My reflection on its glossy surface stared back at me—pale skin, swollen eyes, hair falling loose. I didn’t look like the woman Marcus married. I didn’t look like anyone I knew. Just this

I couldn’t breathe. The silence after Ethan’s words was worse than the shouting, worse than the fury in his eyes. He was just standing there, clutching Evelyn’s diary to his chest like it was the last piece of him that still mattered. And maybe it was. My lips trembled. I wanted to say something... anything...to break the awful stillness stretching between us, but my throat had locked shut. “I trusted you,” he said finally. His voice wasn’t loud this time. No, it was worse...quiet, tired, so full of disappointment it cut deeper than anger ever could. “And you went through the one place I told you never to touch.” I wrapped my arms around myself, as if I could hold in the panic spiraling through me. “Ethan, I had to. You weren’t telling me anything. Do you understand what it feels like? To wake up next to someone you don’t know if you can believe?” His jaw flexed, his eyes flashing. “You think I don’t carry that burden every single day? You think this is easy for me? Keeping thin

The mansion was too quiet that night. Silence draped itself over the hallways like a shroud, broken only by the faint ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs. Ethan had retreated to his private study earlier, but when I passed by hours later, the door was closed, the light beneath it extinguished. He had gone to bed...or so I hoped. My heart was a storm in my chest. Nathaniel’s words from the gala hadn’t left me. Ask him what happened the night she died. They repeated in my head, sharper each time, until I could barely think of anything else. And Miguel’s warning, his so-called proof, had only made the shadows thicker. Everywhere I turned, Evelyn’s ghost seemed to follow me. I should have gone upstairs. I should have crawled into bed beside my husband and pretended everything was normal. Pretended that I trusted him. But the truth was, I couldn’t...not when the questions clawed at me, not when my instincts screamed that the answers were locked away in the one place Ethan neve

I had attended countless events since marrying Ethan, but nothing felt heavier than the gown on my shoulders that night. It wasn’t the fabric or the jewels...it was the weight of whispers I knew would follow us the moment we stepped into the ballroom. The gala was a fortress of glitter and secrets. Crystal chandeliers spilled light over silk-draped tables, the air thick with perfume, champagne, and carefully veiled cruelty. The city’s elite had gathered in their finest armor: gowns that shimmered like fire, tuxedos sharp enough to cut. And in the middle of it all, we were the spectacle. Ethan’s hand rested firmly on my lower back as we entered, his presence a wall of quiet power. His mask was flawless...cold, commanding, untouchable. But I felt the tension beneath his skin, the way his body seemed carved from stone, every movement too precise. I knew why. It hadn’t even been a week since I’d seen Miguel. Since the seed of doubt had taken root inside me. I hadn’t told Ethan, and t

I thought the discovery of Evelyn’s files in Ethan’s office had already shaken me to my core. But the universe, it seemed, wasn’t finished twisting the knife. Miguel found me again. It started innocently or maybe nothing with him could ever be innocent. I had gone out alone that afternoon, desperate for air, desperate for silence away from the suffocating presence of Ethan’s mansion walls. I told myself it was only a walk, a brief escape, but deep down I knew I was running from the man who shared my bed, from the secrets that had begun to seep through the cracks of his carefully constructed world. The café was small, tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop, quiet enough to lose myself in. I thought I was safe there. But when I looked up from the rim of my coffee cup, he was already standing across from me. Miguel Santos. The man who had warned me before. The man whose presence always felt like a shadow stretching too close. “Do you mind?” he asked, his tone smooth, his dark

The silence between us was louder than any gunfire, heavier than any storm. My hands were still trembling when I closed the folder I had no business opening. I could feel the weight of it in my chest—those neatly stacked documents, photographs, fragments of another woman’s life carefully hidden away in Ethan’s private drawer. Evelyn Navarro. Her name was inked on every page like a shadow refusing to fade. And in that moment, it wasn’t the danger outside, or the men chasing us, or even the chaos of the last few days that terrified me most—it was the possibility that my husband, the man I had been trying so desperately to understand, was a stranger all along. I lifted my gaze. Ethan was standing in the doorway of his study, broad shoulders rigid, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek. His eyes were on me, but not with the warmth I’d grown used to in our quieter moments. This gaze was sharp, guarded, as if he’d already prepared for this confrontation long before it happ

I couldn’t stop shaking. My arms were wrapped tight around Isla, her tiny body pressed against me like she was the last fragile thread keeping me tethered to this world. Her breathing was shallow, broken hiccups escaping every few seconds, but she wasn’t crying anymore. She was too exhausted for that. The underground chamber smelled of rust and stagnant water. My clothes clung to my skin, damp and cold, my heart still hammering in a rhythm I couldn’t quiet. It echoed in my ears like the footsteps from above had followed us down here. Ethan stood in front of us, his back straight, his eyes locked on the darkness that swallowed the far end of the chamber. His gun never lowered, his finger resting on the trigger guard, steady in a way I couldn’t comprehend. He wasn’t just prepared to fight—he was waiting for it. I hated that I found comfort in that. The woman crouched near the wall, her knife resting across her knees. I still didn’t know her name, only her voice and the glint in her