Novels by Anna-Marie

I settle into a routine.Every day, I order breakfast from the patisserie nearby or sometimes Brandon sends it over. Then it's usually a toss-up between Desmond and Shawn one sends lunch, the other sends dinner. They never come all at once. Their visits alternate, almost like they have an unspoken schedule. Brandon is the constant. He visits every day, always carving out time to spend with his son. He's even taken us out to lunch and the park a few times. Noah loves those outings, and I… well, I pretend it's all casual, but it warms something in me that I thought had long gone cold. Dr. Lisa is thrilled with Noah's complete transformation. He's even gained a few pounds. The light is back in his eyes, and he laughs easily now — that full-bodied laughter that only children can manage. We're to be discharged tomorrow. Desmond will be picking us up at noon, and Brandon says he'll meet us at home after work.We dress casually that morning — matching T-shirts and jeans

Dinner with the "Uncles"I sit in the passage for a few minutes, watching both patients and nurses walk by, my chest tight with an ache that catches me off guard. The hallway smells faintly of antiseptic and hand sanitizer, a cold reminder of how much time I've spent in hospitals lately. I press a hand to my chest as a memory blindsides me—a vivid flashback from when I was six years old. I had been chosen to play Cinderella in the school play. I was over the moon. Daddy had bought me the most beautiful little dress, all shimmering satin and organza. Mama had helped me rehearse my lines, over and over again, until I could say them in my sleep. But on the day of the performance, just before we left for school, Geena pushed me down the stairs. I broke my leg.The cast was pink. I remember that. What I remember even more was the way no one believed me. Not really. Daddy had gently said, "She's your younger sister, Aaliyah. It was a mistake. Forgive her." And Mama, bless her heart, said so

Noah's Room After the whole debacle, I was a little frazzled, to be honest. I didn't want to walk back into Noah's room. He's sensitive and can always sense when I'm upset or sad. Instead, I took a walk around the block. I passed one of my favourite cafés and decided to walk in. I ordered a scoop of red velvet cheesecake ice cream and a scoop of red velvet. I sat down to enjoy my treat and something the reporter was saying on the television caught my attention. I turned around to listen attentively and grimaced. It was just what I thought I heard: "We are here with the Governor-elect, Mr. Morgan…" (Geena's husband.) Mr. Morgan Sparks is a native of Manhattan, he went to Manhattan High and just won the primaries to represent his party. I stared at his smug face. Geena stood beside him in a Chanel suit looking like Jackie Onassis. I must confess, she looks good. I drowned out whatever the asshole was saying and drifted back to high school — to a particular conversation we had before

SHAWN MALLORY POV Shawn Mallory had never been one for chaos. He liked his world full of numbers and codes. Predictable lines of logic. Language that obeyed. Machines that responded without emotional interference. He built AI programs that mimicked human behavior, but even those were less frustrating than real people. Still, every once in a while, his best friends managed to drag him away from his glowing screens and humming servers. That night, ten years ago, had been one of those moments. He hadn't wanted to go. He was knee-deep in debugging the latest chatbot prototype he named AI Anastasia she was proving problematic just like real-life women an emotionally adaptive concierge bot that could schedule your life and flirt while doing it. Desmond had texted him: "We're going out. Don't make me come to that damn lab." Brandon had just sent an address. Typical. He showed up reluctantly fitted black suit, gold cufflinks, Gold Rolex glinting in low lighting. Always clean. Always d

Desmond Luke had always lived a fast extravagant life. Fast cars. Fast women. Fast decisions. Born into wealth, but forged by tragedy, he was the kind of man who laughed too loudly in boardrooms and didn't flinch at danger or heartbreak. The death of his parents when he was just ten had changed something inside him, something permanent. But it didn't break him. Not completely.By nineteen, Desmond had already graduated from Wharton. By twenty-one, he was flipping distressed hotels into five-star paradises across the globe. By twenty-three, he was a Wall Street legend. Headlines called him a genius. The men called him lucky. The women called him an EnigmaAnd he didn't mind any of it.He ran his empire like he ran his life with precision and pleasure. There wasn't a single deal that Desmond didn't enjoy breaking down. There wasn't a single woman he believed he couldn't have in his bed. And there certainly wasn't a city where someone didn't recognize the name Desmond Luke. The Luke Dyna

Brandon Miller hadn't been this undone in a decade.The hallway outside the ICU felt too quiet for the kind of storm that was building inside his chest. Glass walls. White floors. The soft beep of monitors. But all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears the moment he saw her.Aaliyah.Ten damn years, and she only grew more breathtaking, she was better. Fiercer. More beautiful. Her back was straight, and her hand gripped tightly around the tiny fingers of a little boy lying in the hospital bed. A boy with caramel skin and wild curls. A boy who, in every fiber of Brandon's being, He knew he was his son. Wolves can always smell their Kids.He hadn't even needed the test.The scent hit first strawberry and late summer jasmine. The bond pulsed the second she walked into the room, and his wolf had gone deathly still.He turned away from the glass before his chest caved in completely. His shoes echoed down the corridor as he strolled into the empty consultation room they'd reserved.