Novels by Bankole Ayomide

The heavy oak door of the library clicked shut behind Prince Alexander and Sophia, leaving Vivian alone in the cavernous silence. The scent of dust and parchment felt suddenly suffocating. The brief encounter had been a whirlwind of cold assessment, unexpected kindness, and jarring proximity between the protagonists – a stark reminder of the ticking clock. *Tomorrow.* The word echoed, a death knell for her fragile amnesia act and her precarious hold on survival.Her gaze dropped to the slip of parchment clutched in her hand. *L. East Gallery. Dusk. Come alone.* The ink was dark, the handwriting neat but devoid of flourishes – purposeful, anonymous. Who was 'L'? And why summon *her*, the villainess everyone feared or despised, under such clandestine circumstances? Was it a trap laid by Thomas, testing her loyalty or her memory? Or something else entirely? The original Vivian might have dismissed it or brought guards, expecting treachery. But the transmigrated Vivian saw only possibilit

The crunch of Thomas’s retreating footsteps faded, swallowed by the oppressive silence of the courtyard. Vivian stood frozen, the chill of his touch lingering like frostbite on her cheek. His words echoed: *Regain your strength. And your resolve. You’ll need it.* It wasn't encouragement; it was a command, a reminder of the role she was expected to play.Elara shifted nervously beside her. “My Lady? Perhaps we should go back inside? You look pale.”*Pale?* Vivian felt like her borrowed blood had turned to ice water. Thomas’s visit was a stark warning. The amnesia shield was flimsy, a temporary reprieve at best. He expected Lady Vivian Ashworth – ruthless, ambitious, obsessed – to be ready for Prince Alexander’s arrival tomorrow. The original Vivian would have been vibrating with anticipation, issuing orders for her finest gowns, plotting how to monopolize Alexander’s attention, and likely already scheming against Sophia Bellweather.*What am I supposed to do?* Panic threatened to resur

The first sensation was the cold. A deep, marrow-chilling dampness seeped through the thin fabric beneath her. Vivian groaned, her head pounding with the ferocity of a jackhammer on concrete. *Too much cheap wine last night?* she thought blearily, trying to pry her eyes open. But the light filtering through her eyelids wasn't the familiar, warm glow of her apartment’s morning sun. It was… dim. Grey. Flickering unnaturally.She forced her eyes open, blinking against the sting. Instead of her popcorn ceiling plastered with glow-in-the-dark stars (a relic of teenage whimsy she’d never taken down), she saw vast, vaulted stone arches disappearing into shadowy heights. Heavy, dark velvet drapes hung beside tall, narrow windows crisscrossed with lead. The air smelled of dust, old stoarches disappearing into shadowy heights. Heavy, dark velvet drapes hung beside tall, narrow windows crisscrossed with lead. The air smelled of dust, old stone, beeswax, and something faintly metallic – like cold