Novels by Bonnie Jay

The clink of fine china. The low hum of jazz. Laughter that floated like perfume; sweet, expensive, and never quite sincere.I stood at the edge of the Sterling estate’s garden, near a perfectly manicured hedge dotted with white blooms. Around me, guests mingled like practiced dancers, weaving between high tables draped in crisp linens, their conversations light and polished. A woman in emerald silk threw her head back in a laugh that didn’t quite touch her eyes. Another dabbed at the corner of her lips with a napkin embroidered with the Sterling crest.I held a glass of sparkling water that had long since gone flat.The dress I wore shimmered faintly in the afternoon sun, a powder blue number that hugged the curve of my growing bump just enough to remind me it was there. It had arrived in a sleek black garment bag that morning, courtesy of Cassian, along with a short note in crisp handwriting: “Damian said you might need something suitable. Hope this works.”It did. Technically. The

I smelled her before I saw her.Something expensive and old-world; amber, citrus, and the cold sort of floral that didn’t grow in nature. It smelled like money that hadn’t moved in generations. Like judgment bottled and sold in crystal flacons.I was slicing raspberries in the kitchen, humming low to myself, still in the soft robe I’d tugged over a tank top after my shower. The penthouse was quiet except for the gentle classical music Damian left playing in the mornings. A strange habit for someone so sharp-edged.Then I heard it.The soft chime of the private elevator.Followed by the unmistakable click of shoes as they struck the marble floor one by one like a gavel calling court into session.I didn’t flinch. Just reached for another berry, hoping it was Damian.It wasn’t.She entered like a final draft, no edits, no hesitation. A tailored navy sheath dress hugged her frame like it had been sewn directly onto her spine. A cashmere coat, oyster gray and heavy, draped across her shou

I didn’t expect to find him in the kitchen.Not in that crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar casually open like he hadn’t just rewritten the terms of our entire arrangement the night before.He was by the coffee machine when I walked in, tall, calm, a quiet storm wrapped in expensive fabric. Focused on pouring a splash of cream into his mug, like it was just another Tuesday and not the morning after something had shifted irreversibly between us.Like he hadn’t handed me a kind of power I wasn’t sure what to do with.I hovered near the archway, unsure of what to say.His voice reached me before my thoughts could catch up. “You’re up.”I nodded slowly. “You’re still here.”“I live here.”“Technically.”He looked over his shoulder, one brow raised. “Still arguing semantics before breakfast. That’s bold.”I stepped into the kitchen, the hem of my robe whispering against bare legs as I moved toward the fridge. The cool air rushed over me when I opened it. I stared at a

Damian's POVSilence had weight.Thick. Settling. It lingered long after Sabrina’s heels vanished down the hall.I waited until I heard the elevator doors close. Two more seconds. Then three.Then I moved.The hallway felt too narrow. The lights too dim. Or maybe it was just my head, still pulsing from everything she hadn’t said.I should’ve let it lie.Should’ve poured a drink. Slept it off. Focused on the merger. The numbers. The noise I could control.Instead, I stood in front of Brielle's door. Knuckles grazing the wood. Thinking about raspberry cookies and the way Brielle had quietly disappeared the second Sabrina stepped into the house, like she knew she didn’t belong.I knocked twice.Soft. Intentional.No answer.I waited.Then the lock clicked.The door didn’t swing open all the way. Just a crack...enough to catch her eyes. Wary. Clear. Still the only part of her I hadn’t learned how to guard against.“You need something?” she asked, voice even.I kept my tone measured. “Can w

Damian’s POVThe city always looked cleaner at sunset. Like everything it touched, the steel, the glass, even the lies got a fresh coat of gold just before darkness reclaimed it.But not even that show of illusion could compete with the quiet shift in my chest when I read the line on my screen.Paternity confirmed. 99.98%.It wasn’t shock.I already knew.But confirmation had a way of steadying things. Grounding you in a reality that could no longer be denied or spun or ignored.I didn’t smile.Didn’t clench my fists either.For the first time in days, I didn’t feel unsettled.I leaned back in my chair, let the hum of the office settle around me. The city buzzed beyond the tinted glass, but inside, it was still. Focused. Controlled.Just the way I liked it.Cassian stepped in at six sharp with the final vendor reports. No unnecessary chatter. No probing glances. Just a quick hand-off and a nod before disappearing again.Smart man. Loyal, efficient, and most importantly, knows when to k

The bag of groceries was digging into the soft crease of my elbow by the time I stepped off the elevator into the private foyer. I shifted it higher, careful not to crush the fragile carton of raspberries I’d splurged on; the expensive kind, the kind that whispered luxury even in their tiny biodegradable shell. Damian liked raspberries. I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but I did.Baking had always been my peace offering. My way of smoothing over jagged words and awkward silences. A quiet bridge when apologies felt too raw in my throat. And I hated how yesterday ended. I hated how tight my chest felt remembering his face after I "trespassed" and proceeded to shove that contract at him like a shield.So, raspberry thumbprint cookies.Not because I owed him anything.But because guilt had a way of crawling under my skin and nesting there.The elevator behind me pinged.I paused with my keycard halfway to the penthouse sensor.Maybe Chef Liora. Or housekeeping.Instead, the air shifted.The