Novel-novel oleh Benita’s pen

Ari’s POV I brought Rhea home that morning. She didn’t want to at first. I could see it in the way she kept glancing at the path behind us, like she expected someone to follow. But I told her my parents would love to meet her before she left the island, and she finally said yes. She wore a pale dress, hair tied up, sketchbook pressed to her chest. Every step she took was careful, like she was trying not to disturb something sacred. I didn’t tell her that in this house, everything already was. Mom opened the door before I could knock. She smiled, kind and curious. “You must be Rhea.” “Yes, ma’am.” Mom’s smile faltered halfway through. Her expression shifted—soft to uncertain, then sharp. Her eyes narrowed slightly, like she was trying to place a scent. “Where are you from, dear?” Rhea hesitated. “Just… up north.” “North where?” “Near the mainland,” Rhea said quickly. “My family moves around a lot.” The front door creaked. Father stepped in from the hall, wiping hi

Ari’s POV I didn’t plan to see her again that night. I went walking because the house felt too small after the argument with my father. The moonlight threw silver across the path, and the water broke soft against the rocks, steady as breathing. I told myself I’d just walk, burn off the noise still running in my head. Then I saw her. Rhea sat on the same overturned boat, knees to her chest, sketchbook forgotten beside her. She had her chin tucked down like she was listening to the ocean think. The tide reached for her feet and slid back again. She looked up when I stopped near her, and the look in her eyes said she’d been expecting me even if she hadn’t. “You,” she said quietly. Her mouth twitched like she wanted to smile but didn’t trust herself to. “Couldn’t sleep?” “Couldn’t stay.” “Bad night?” “Couldn’t sleep.” She smiled, not teasing, just tired. “You always look like someone with a storm under his skin.” “Maybe I am.” “That must be exhausting.” “Sometime

Ari’s POV The first thing I noticed when I stepped inside wasn’t the silence; it was the way both my parents looked at me as if I’d dragged a ghost home. Father stood by the window, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight enough to cut stone. Mom sat at the table, her fingers wrapped around a mug she hadn’t touched. Valeria perched on the arm of the couch, pretending to read but her eyes were all over me. “You’re late,” Kael said. I shut the door behind me. “Didn’t know there was a curfew.” He turned slowly, the kind of turn that told me he’d already heard something he didn’t like. “You want to try that again?” I could’ve lied. I almost did. But the moment I saw his face, the fight from earlier came rushing back the men, Rhea’s eyes, the wolf in my chest that refused to stay quiet. “I ran into some trouble,” I said. “Trouble?” He raised an eyebrow. “That what they’re calling it now?” Serena looked up, her voice soft but cutting through the air. “Ari, people said you attacked

Ari’s POV We stayed near the water after the men were gone. The tide had crept back, slow and heavy, dragging foam across the sand until it touched our feet. Rhea sat a few paces from me, knees pulled to her chest, sketchbook lying closed beside her. Neither of us spoke for a long time. The pier behind us had gone quiet. The fishermen had gone home. Only the sea kept talking. Her hair was still messy from the scuffle, a few strands stuck to her face. I wanted to brush them away, but I didn’t. I just sat there, watching the waves fold over each other, waiting for her to breathe normally again. Finally, she said, “You shouldn’t have done that.” I glanced at her. “I know.” “You could’ve gotten hurt.” “So could you.” “That’s different.” “No,” I said. “It’s not.” Rhea turned her head slowly. “You don’t get it, do you?” “Then make me get it.” Her eyes flicked to the horizon, pale and still. “You asked me who he was. That man at the pier.” “Yeah.” “He works for

Ari’s POV Rhea didn’t come by the cliffs the next day. I told myself she was hiding, that it was smart, but my chest stayed tight all morning. The burn on my palm had faded into a faint scar, a pale mark that still hummed when I thought about her voice. By the time I reached the market road, the sun had climbed high enough to turn the boards of the pier almost white. Fishermen shouted, gulls dove, the world moved as if nothing dangerous had ever touched it. But I could feel it the change, the tension. Then I saw her. Rhea stood near the far end of the dock, her back to the sea, sketchbook clutched tight. She wasn’t alone. The man from last night was there again, coat gone now, sleeves rolled up, flanked by two others. One held her wrist; the other blocked her path. Everything inside me went still. The wolf didn’t ask permission. It just rose—quiet, controlled, ready. I walked fast, the boards groaning under my steps. “Let her go.” The man in the center turned. His

Ari’s POV The house was quiet enough for me to slip out without Valeria catching me. She always noticed when I left, always tattled in the morning with that smug grin, but tonight I needed to move. The burn in my palm had eased, but the itch under my skin hadn’t. The wolf wanted to stretch, to breathe. I jogged down the path that curved through the palms toward the beach. The tide had pulled back, leaving the sand slick and dark. I started running faster, half human, half something else clawing up my spine. Then I saw movement near the pier. Not the usual fishermen or tourists. Someone stood beneath the lamplight a man in a black coat too heavy for island weather. He leaned against one of the posts, speaking low to an older vendor who was packing up his stall. Something about the way he moved made my instincts lift. I slowed and stayed in the shadow of the boats. “Have you seen a young woman traveling alone?” the man asked. His voice was smooth, but sharp at the edges, t

Evelyn’s POV I woke up that morning to noise. At first, I thought I was dreaming because it felt like part of whatever messy dream I was having people talking, flashes of voices, a strange buzz that wouldn’t stop. But when I opened my eyes and listened properly, it was real. The noise was coming from outside. I pulled myself out of bed and walked to the window, still half asleep, thinking maybe one of the neighbors was having some sort of delivery or event. But the moment I looked out, my heart dropped. There was a crowd outside our gates. Reporters. Cameras flashing, microphones sticking out like weapons, vans with station logos parked in front of the house. It was chaos. For a second, I just stood there staring, trying to make sense of it. Then I heard voices downstairs and rushed out, not even bothering to change out of my nightgown. My hair was a mess, feet bare, but I didn’t care. Before I got down the last step, I saw Clara by the front door. She was standing next to her f

Evelyn’s POV It’s been forty-eight hours since the troubles started and I’ve been enjoying watching him move from pillar to post, trying to hold everything together, calling people, shouting orders, pretending he isn’t drowning. I was getting ready to go to Pilates when my phone rang. “Evelyn.” His voice. Tight. Flat. No greeting. “I need you to come to the office. Now.” I held the phone away from my ear for a second, staring at it like maybe I heard wrong. “Is something wrong?” He didn’t answer that. Just repeated, “Come now,” and hung up. I stood there a moment, phone still in my hand, trying to decide if I cared enough to go. But curiosity wins with Alfred it always does. I wanted to see how bad the fire is this time, how much he’s pretending he can handle it alone. So I changed out of my leggings, grabbed my keys, and drove. By the time I reached the campaign office, the building felt like an overworked beehive. Staff moving fast, voices low, phones ringing off the hook. T

Evelyn’s POV My son and I had a tough relationship because he saw me as an enemy. He was grown now, could make decisions for himself, and I still wanted to affect most of those decisions because I had his best interest at heart. Yet it always came off as control, and he behaved like every twenty-year-old boy would stubborn, defensive, full of pride he hadn’t earned. He only came home on weekends, and even then, he barely said two sentences to me. Every time he was around, all he did was lock himself in his room, play games, go out with his friends to play soccer, and hang out till midnight. It was routine for him, but for me, it was hell. I tried to understand, I really did, but being his mother didn’t mean I stopped being human. Watching your child pull away from you hurts in ways that words don’t explain. It was late afternoon, and as usual, his friends had pulled up in the driveway, honking twice to announce their arrival. I could already picture them leaning out of the car

It was a sunny day at the office, calm and bright, and everyone was busy with last-minute preparations for the official campaign launch. Laughter floated across the rooms, phones buzzed incessantly, papers shuffled from desk to desk, and the scent of coffee lingered with the faint tang of printer toner. Staff moved like clockwork, juggling tasks, making sure nothing slipped through the cracks before the big event.Alfred sat behind his desk, legs crossed, a half-empty cup of coffee sweating on the leather blotter. He skimmed over the morning’s briefings but only half-focused, listening more than reading. Across from him, Theo leaned forward, notebook open, pen scratching notes as he outlined the new media plan. Every point was precise. press coverage, social engagement, scheduling, hashtags, social posts timed down to the minute. Alfred nodded occasionally, asking the kind of small questions that made Theo straighten, scribble faster, and clarify himself in tighter, sharper sentences.

Evelyn’s P.O.VI was alone that morning, or so I thought. The housekeepers were somewhere inside cleaning but the yard was mine. I sat by the pool, legs dipped in, sipping orange juice mixed with a little gin. I had nowhere to be, nothing to dress up for, and for once, no one was pretending to love me in front of cameras. The sun hit the edge of the glass table, catching the pale polish on my nails. I’d stopped wearing my wedding ring the night before. It sat somewhere on the dresser, a gold circle that meant nothing now.I’d barely slept. The call to Madeline was still echoing in my head the start of something I couldn’t turn back from. My stomach twisted with the kind of excitement that felt dangerous, almost pleasurable.The sound of a door closing made me turn. At first, I thought it was one of the staff, but then I saw him Theo stepping into view with a folder tucked under one arm and his phone in the other. He froze when he saw me.“Mrs. Cole,” he said quickly, straightening, as

Evelyn I did not plan fireworks. I did not want the messy thrill of a headline that screamed betrayal. What I wanted was a cut that would ache in exactly the places he cared about his donors, the neat pile of reputation he slept on. I wanted him to feel the same slow unravel he’d given me, only measured, surgical, unavoidable. The study door was unlocked. He left it unlocked because he trusted the world to be as obliging as he was, and because men like him lived by an economy of assumed loyalty. I had lived inside that assumption for twenty-two years and learned its geography but tonight I moved through it like someone reclaiming a map. His laptop woke under my hand, the screen a polite glow. I did not need passwords I had watched him enter them enough times that his patterns felt like easy rhythm under my thumb. I did not think about the ethics of it. Ethics had been spent long ago on polite smiles while I stitched other people’s scandals into seamless excuses. Tonight the stit

Aria’s POV I woke up with the same tight feeling in my chest I’d gone to sleep with. It had been creeping in since yesterday’s verdict, since that hug, since the way his whole body softened against me like he didn’t care who was watching. I didn’t want to think about it, but every time I blinked, it was there. That warmth. That weight. That moment where I realized he wasn’t as untouchable as he pretended. I kept replaying the look in his eyes when the judge said he was free. Relief mixed with something else I didn’t really understand. Something almost… grateful. Something that felt too close to hope. I tried to shake it off when I got out of bed. I took a shower, changed, brushed my hair, all the normal things. But the second I stepped outside my room and walked into the main living space, I felt it again. That strange awareness that settled right under my ribs whenever he was nearby. He was standing near the grand table, talking to Christiano and Ethan. Papers were scatter

Aria’s POV It had been hours since the verdict, but I still felt that hug on my body like it had only just happened. My skin remembered the weight of his arms before my mind even caught up. I kept replaying it even though I told myself I shouldn’t. It didn’t matter how many times I blinked or tried to think of something else. The way he held me kept coming back. He didn’t hold me like someone being dramatic or looking for attention. He held me like someone who had been holding everything in for too long and finally broke open for a moment. Like he had needed that hug more than breath. And I didn’t know what to do with that feeling, because something inside me answered it immediately, and that reaction scared me more than any of the courtrooms or cameras. When we got home, everything felt different in a way I couldn’t explain. The house looked the same. The walls, the floors, the furniture all the same. Nothing had changed physically, but something in the air between us felt com

Aria’s POV The last hearing felt slower than all the others. Hours stretched like they were holding their breath, waiting for someone to make the world start again. I sat a few rows behind him, hands pressed together, knees stiff. The sound of papers shifting, pens clicking, shoes scraping against the floor every small thing felt too loud. Damien sat in front, his back straight, his head tilted slightly to the side like he was listening to something far away. From where I was, I could only see part of his face, the edge of his jaw, the way his hand rested on the table. He looked calm, the kind of calm that only came when everything inside you had already been torn apart. I wanted to move closer. I didn’t. I just watched the small, quiet things he did how his thumb brushed the pen he wasn’t using, how his breathing barely showed, how sometimes he leaned forward like he was about to speak but never did. His lawyer did all the talking, clear, firm, measured. They went through t

Aria’s POV We left the courtroom together. The hearing was over, but everything still felt unfinished. The noise inside had faded behind us, replaced by the heavy quiet that follows when people stop pretending to care. Damien walked beside me, his shoulders straight, his eyes forward, the kind of calm that never really is. My heels clicked against the tiles. I didn’t know where to look, so I just focused on moving. The floor felt too smooth, my legs too weak. I wanted to disappear before anyone else could stare, before someone asked me how it felt to lie and call it truth. Then his hand brushed mine. I thought it was an accident at first. But when I didn’t pull away, he didn’t either.It was so light I almost didn’t feel it at first, but the moment my skin caught his, something inside me paused. His fingers slipped around mine, slow and certain, like he’d made the decision long before his hand even reached for me. My pulse jumped, fast and loud in my chest. He didn’t look

Aria I’d never been inside a courtroom before that day. I thought it would feel like a place for justice, for truth, but when I stepped inside, it felt more like a stage. Every pair of eyes turned toward , guessing, waiting to decide who I was supposed to be victim, liar, or girl too broken to know the difference. The other girls went first. One after another. Each of them dressed in soft colors, hair tied back, their voices trembling but steady enough to sound real. I sat in the back, hands clasped, fingers digging into my palm as I listened to their stories all just telling the truth. I could hear Vance voice in all of them, shaping each sentence, cutting away the parts that didn’t fit the version of the truth we needed. Every testimony was like watching pieces of myself being repeated by someone else. Damien sat at the defense table, motionless. His suit was immaculate, but his eyes they looked exhausted, haunted, the way someone looks after fighting for too long. He didn

Damien’s POV She was standing by the window when I walked in. Morning light slipped through the blinds, cutting across her in soft lines that caught the edge of her skin, her hair, the pale curve of her neck. She didn’t see me at first. She was just there, quiet, arms folded loosely, watching something outside that probably didn’t matter. I told myself to keep walking, to go straight to the study, to not look too long. But I did. I stopped. And I just watched her. Her robe hung loose around her waist, the tie barely holding it together. Beneath it, I caught the faint shape of her body through the thin fabric. The light turned everything into suggestion the curve of her hip, the soft rise of her chest as she breathed, the line of her collarbone peeking through. It hit me then, that slow ache that starts somewhere in your chest and spreads lower until it becomes heat. I’d felt it before, but never like this. Not when she was this close, this unaware, this painfully human in fr