Novels by Chithority.

Liana’s POVThe garden was quiet tonight. Too quiet.I curled up on the stone bench, my shawl pulled tight around my shoulders, a book open in my lap. My eyes skimmed line after line, but none of the words stuck. They blurred together, useless.All I could think about was the missing sketchbook.I’d searched everywhere—behind the sofa cushions, under the table, even along the hallways I’d walked yesterday. Nothing. It was gone.And if it was gone… then someone had it.The thought made my stomach twist violently. Those drawings weren’t just silly sketches—they were secrets. They were pieces of me I’d never dared say out loud. Things I couldn’t afford for anyone to see. Especially not Matteo.My throat went dry. I pressed my hands against my face, whispering into my palms, Please, God. Don’t let it be him. Don’t let it be Matteo.Footsteps crunched against gravel, and I froze.I looked up—and my heart skipped.Maxwell.He strolled into view with that dangerous kind of calm, hands shoved

(Maxwell’s POV)The house was silent.Too silent.Maxwell leaned against the polished doorframe of his room, staring into the yawning stretch of the dark hallway as if it were mocking him. The shadows seemed to breathe, reminding him of the promises he had made to himself—that he would not go searching for her. He would not chase the lingering trace of roses that clung to the air whenever she passed. He would not let his mind replay that stolen kiss, the one he had no right to take, the one that still burned against his mouth like a brand.But temptation was a disease, and it lived in these walls.Restless, he paced, shoulders taut, fists clenching and unclenching as though he could wring her ghost from his veins. Finally, unable to stand the suffocating silence, he decided to head downstairs for water. A distraction. Anything to steady himself.His footsteps echoed through the cavernous living room, bouncing against marble and glass. The chandelier above swayed faintly, its crystal a

(Liana’s POV)Since that night, the walls of the house felt different. Tighter. Closer. Almost as if they knew what I had done, what I had allowed.Every corner I turned, I expected to see him. Every time a door creaked or boots clicked against the floor, my stomach twisted in panic and… something else. Something I refused to name.So, I did what I always did best. I hid.I buried myself in chores. From the moment I woke up, I kept my hands busy, even when the maids begged me to let them work instead. Scrubbing, dusting, rearranging, cooking—I did it all with frantic energy, as though cleaning the house could somehow wipe away the memory of his lips on mine.But it didn’t.Every time I bent over the sink, I remembered his breath against my cheek. Every time my fingers brushed a plate, I remembered his hand gripping mine. And at night, when the house grew silent, the memory of his kiss came back with a vengeance, stealing into my thoughts until my chest ached and my body felt like it b

Maxwell’s POVThe walls of my room felt smaller tonIght. Like they were closing In on me, crushing every bit of control I’d been holding on to sInce I stepped Into thIs cursed house. I dragged a hand through my haIr and paced across the floor, boots scuffing against the marble tiles. My chest was tIght, and no matter how deeply I breathed, I couldn’t push out the ghost of her lips.Liana.Damn It.I stopped in the middle of the room, fists tightening at my sIdes, as though I could beat the memory out of myself. The way she’d looked at me earlier, so startled, so fragile, and yet, for a split second, so willing, that Image clung to me like smoke.“I swore I wouldn’t cross that line,” I muttered aloud, my voice hoarse In the empty room. “I promised myself I’d protect her, not—”Not kiss her. Not taste her like she belonged to me. Not lose myself in the sweetness of a woman I could never truly claim.The back of my throat burned. I tilted my head up, staring at the ceiling as If the crac

Liana’s POVThe door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was louder than anythIng I had heard all night. It pressed in on me, heavIer than the shouting, heavIer than the slamming of fIsts and glass I had grown used to.My lips still tingled. My chest was heavIng—not from fear, not from pain thIs time, but from what I had just done. I pressed my back against the wall, draggIng air Into my lungs like someone who had been drowning for years and had just now broken the surface.I kissed him.The thought crashed over me agaIn and again, each wave fiercer than the last, leaving me breathless, leavIng me shaking. Terrified. It wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t happen. Not with Maxwell. Not with the only person In thIs house who had shown me something that resembled kIndness.I wrapped my arms around myself, pulling my knees up as If I could curl away from the memory, but the heat of It clung to me stubbornly. My wrist throbbed with a dull ache, but the pain wasn’t what consumed

Liana povAt first, I didn’t answer.I wasn’t ready for anyone to see me like this—blood on the floor, my body trembling, my mind spiraling between too many things I couldn’t name. Was I In paIn? Was I heartbroken? Was I still burning with the shameful desIre that had haunted me in the garden?I didn’t know.So I stayed silent. Pressed my hand harder against the wound. Pretended whoever knocked would go away.But then I heard it.“Lina?”The voice slid straight through my chest. Maxwell.My breath caught. No, not hIm. He was the last person I wanted to face In this state.“Are you there?” His tone was urgent, low, like he already feared the answer. “I heard a loud noise. Matteo stormed out in a rush. Are you… are you okay?”My body froze. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing he’d just leave. I wasn’t ready for intervention. Not from him.The silence stretched. I thought maybe he had gone, but then the floor creaked outsIde the door. He hadn’t moved. He was waiting.I forced myself to stan