Novels by Joanna Jade

Davin’s flashlight beam swept the spare bedroom again, slower this time, taking it all in.The wall was a nightmare mapped out in photographs and red markers.There were so many photos. Roman leaving the hospital after the shooting—his arm in a sling, his face grim.Tessa was on the terrace steps, newspaper in her lap, oblivious.Grayson clutching his side the night he was stabbed, blood staining his shirt.All private moments. Impossible angles.The will reading at the Thorne estate—grainy zoom through a window.Liam’s pregnancy announcement dinner—candlelight reflecting off glasses.Tessa and Roman on the rooftop, tangled under the blanket, fairy lights glowing.Nandini being rushed into the ER, and Roman carrying her.“What the fuck?” Davin murmured, voice barely audible.Each photo had a thick red cross slashed over the face.Everyone, except Salima’s.Her picture was pinned dead centre, unmarked.Davin’s skin crawled. He figured she was the next target.His mind raced. Who the he

The conference room on the forty-second floor of the new Blackwood Hotel overlooked the frozen Chicago skyline. The space was all glass and dark wood, sleek and imposing—just like the man at the head of the table.Roman Blackwood leaned back in his chair, his hands loosely clasped, a faint, genuine smile on his face for the first time in days. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that Cross Corp chose to partner with us on this,” he said, voice smooth and confident. “Giving Blackwood Hotels this opportunity—it means more than I can say.”Damien Cross, the younger brother, nodded with an approving smile. “You earned it, Roman. The numbers spoke for themselves. And frankly, we like working with people who don’t waste our time.”Sebastian, older and sharper-edged, leaned forward. “We’ve watched your moves. They’re impressive. Aggressive when it needs to be, smart when it counts.We’re looking forward to seeing what you do with this property.”Roman inclined his head. “I know we’ll be

Salima stepped into her bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft thud.The house was silent, the kind of heavy quiet that pressed in after a long, draining night.She slipped off her earrings, setting them on the dresser, then reached for the zipper of her emerald blouse.A knock echoed through the empty hallway—three sharp knocks on the front door downstairs.She froze, hand still on the zipper. It was late. Too late for visitors.Salima pulled a scarf tight around her shoulders and walked downstairs, bare feet silent on the marble. At the door, she paused, listening.“Who is it?” she called, voice steady but edged.“It’s me,” Victor answered, low and familiar through the wood. “Victor.”She hesitated for a long second, then unlocked the door and pulled it open just enough to see him standing on the porch, coat collar turned up against the December chill.“What do you want, Victor?” she asked, her tone cool, arms folded.He looked tired, the lines around his eyes deeper

Two Months laterThe nursery was quiet except for the soft creak of the rocking chair Tessa refused to sit in.The street lamps spilt through the curtains, creating stripes across the half-finished crib.A mobile with tiny stars and moons Roman had hung himself—moved gently in the air.Tessa stood rigid, one hand resting on the smooth wooden rail, the other cradling the swell of her belly.She was five months pregnant now and she hadn’t been able to sleep for days, not really. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Roman’s blood on the pavement, or heard Salima’s voice:“You may be carrying the heir—but now you’re players in the game.”She leaned down, her fingers brushing the place where her baby moved.“I won’t let them touch you,” she whispered, the promise fierce and fragile at once. “Not Eleanor. Not anyone.”Her phone vibrated on the table, the screen lighting the room blue.It was Roman.She picked up immediately.“Hey,” she said, her voice soft, trying to keep the exhaustion

Salima swallowed as the knock came again.She ended the call and sent a single text to Roman.“He called. I think he’s outside.”She set the phone down on the kitchen island and reached for the knife rack. Her fingers wrapped around the handle with practised calm. No shaking. No hesitation.She moved toward the door, every step measured, the blade steady in her palm.“Who is it?” she called.But no one answered.Her jaw tightened. She unlocked the door and swung it open in one sharp motion.“Victor?” She gasped.Victor stood there, his grey hair falling across his face, dressed too neatly for the hour. His smile came easy—too easy.Salima took a step forward. “What…what are you—”“Hi, Salima,” Victor said lightly. “You look… worried.”Her grip on the knife didn’t loosen, but she lowered it just enough to keep it out of sight.“Sorry,” she said coolly. “I thought you were someone else.”His eyes flicked down—then back up. He noticed the knife.Victor’s brows lifted just slightly. “I se

Davin stared at the man in front of him, his gaze sweeping over his brown-skinned torso once again.“So… what’s the explanation for that?” Davin asked. “You’re as fresh as the day, yet I have a video of a knife going through you.”Arjun looked at him, his spine straightening.“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmured.Davin sighed. “Look, Arjun… I’m not here for you. But I am looking for someone else—and I know you’re working with them.”“Once again,” Arjun said, unyielding, “I have no idea what you’re saying. I have nothing to hide.”“Okay,” Davin said evenly. “Then you won’t mind me taking you in for questioning.”Arjun exhaled—and before Davin could blink, he bolted.“Hey—!” Davin lunged forward, instinct kicking in as Arjun shoved past him and tore down the narrow hallway.“Stop!” Davin barked, already chasing him.Arjun didn’t look back.He took the stairs two at a time, bare feet slapping hard against concrete, the sound echoing like gunshots in the stairwell.Davi

Bella’s POVI woke up two hours ago, getting ready for my night out with Matteo.I slipped on my heels, taking one last look at myself in the mirror.The dress was black silk, clinging like a second skin, neckline plunging just enough to make my father pretend he didn’t notice.I took a deep breath.I had no idea what I was walking into tonight, but whatever it was, I needed to dress to kill.I headed down the stairs, heart thudding with every step.My father was waiting in the living room, arms open, as if this were some proud father-daughter moment.“Bella!” He beamed, pulling me into a hug that felt like chains. “You look perfect. Tonight, make me proud.”I nodded, forcing a smile that hurt. “Sure. But I have to go. Matteo’s waiting.”He released me with one last approving pat on the shoulder. Outside, the cold wind slapped my bare arms.A sleek black Maybach pulled up at the curb, engine purring like a predator.The driver opened the door.Matteo was sprawled in the back seat, leg

Zayden had had more one-night stands than he could count. Faces he forgot before the sun rose. Names he never asked for.But her? Bella. She was different. In his mind. On his skin. In the silence between his thoughts.There was something in the way she fell apart that night—quietly and desperately. Like she was left alone broken and bruised.He hadn’t meant to take her home. Hell, he didn’t even know why he spoke to her.But the moment he saw her sitting alone, her glass trembling in her hand, a storm buried behind her eyes—he couldn’t look away.And when she moaned in his bed—begging, whimpering, pleading with him to screw her—it turned him on more than he ever imagined.She wasn’t like the others. Not some spoiled socialite.Not a woman who wanted his name, his wealth, or his control.She wanted to feel and he let her.Now he couldn’t get her out of his head.He hadn’t even asked her last name. But he remembered the way her mouth trembled when she whispered his name against his ski

Bella’s POVThat night, I stood outside my father’s office with my hand lifted, knuckles hovering inches from the door.My pulse wouldn’t slow.Everything in me screamed that what I was about to do was dangerous—but danger didn’t scare me anymore. Not after Zayden Romano. Not after the slap. Not after realising my entire life had been traded away like a bargaining chip.I finally knocked.“Come in,” My father called.I pushed the door open and stepped inside. He sat behind the heavy desk, reading something on his tablet like the world wasn’t actively burning around us.I cleared my throat. “I want Matteo’s number.”He looked up slowly and studied me.The silence stretched thin between us. My chest tightened—but I held his gaze, and didn’t blink.“He told me I could get it from you,” I added, forcing sweetness into my voice. “Said we should… get to know each other better.”The word tasted bitter.Something shifted in my father’s eyes. The tension in his shoulders eased. Then unbeliev

The cold night air burned my lungs as I dragged from the cigarette.I didn’t even smoke….I never had.But tonight, I needed something to burn, something to choke down the chaos clawing up my throat.I stood near the side of the courtyard, hidden between tall hedges, the glowing tip of the cigarette bright against the dark.My hands shook hard as I brought it back to my mouth.I exhaled slowly.Smoke drifted up into the sky, thin and grey, vanishing like everything else that ever belonged to me.“If your mother ever catches you doing that,” a voice said behind me, calm and venomous, “she won’t be nearly as gentle as I am.”“Dad!” I said, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under my heel, brushing ash off my palms as I turned.“I just needed to cool off,” I sniffed. “Get the heat out.”My father stood beneath the soft courtyard lights, hands clasped behind his back like a man pretending to be civilised.“I’m sorry for striking you, Bella,” he said suddenly.The words landed wrong. To

Bella’s POVZayden Romano.The name looped in my head like a broken record while the city blurred past the cab window.It had to be a coincidence.Romano is common. Half of Italy probably has cousins named Romano.But Mendoza? He said Mendoza. My last name.My blood turned cold. My stomach lurched.What were the odds I’d picked the one man in Venice my father was running from?The ghost that had my family scrambling, selling me off like livestock to keep him at bay.I slept with him. I begged him.I let him inside me, let him ruin me, let him mark me in ways I’d feel for days.And he might be the very monster my father is terrified of.The driver swerved past the gates.“Stop—stop, stop, stop! Here! This is it!”I threw money at him and stumbled out, heels clacking too loud on the gravel.The front door flew open before I even reached it.And the slap came fast and hard—my head snapped to the side, cheek burning.My father’s hand was still raised.“Foolish child,” he hissed. “Where th

Bella’s POVThe silence in the car was thick, but not uncomfortable. Just… heavy.I stared out the window at the dark canal lights streaking past, pretending the city was more interesting than the man driving.He didn’t push me to talk. Just let the quiet stretch.In an hour, we pulled up to a sleek glass tower that screamed money and power.I didn’t ask any questions. I already knew the answer would complicate things.Minutes later he was leading me into the penthouse that looked like it belonged in a magazine: floor-to-ceiling windows, dark minimalist paintings, city lights glittering below us like scattered diamonds.I sank into the couch as my bones had finally given up.He poured two glasses of red wine, and handed me one.“You look worn out,” he said, voice low.I stared into the wine, then up at him. “That’s what happens when you walk in on your boyfriend balls-deep in your best friend.”A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by the ghost of a laugh he didn’t let out.