Novels by emmanuelanurikamaryjane

Sophia’s POVI stepped into the dining room and froze. Xavier was already there, watching me like he could see everything I was trying to hide.“Sleep well?” he asked, voice casual, but there was something in his tone.“Perfectly,” I replied, forcing a smile.He didn’t move his eyes away from me. “You look flushed.”My fork slipped. I caught it quickly. “Must be the weather.”He smirked slightly. “Or the dreams.”I tried to keep my voice steady. “I don’t dream about you.”He folded the paper slowly. “Good to know.”He gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit.”I sat, but I could feel his gaze drilling into me.“Anything you want to confess?”“No.” My voice was sharper than I wanted. “Why would I?”He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Because I like confessions.”I looked away. “You should be careful what you wish for.”He chuckled quietly. “That depends on who’s confessing.”Breakfast was a silent battlefield. I escaped to the garden as soon as I could.A bench, a qu

Sophia’s POV Three days.That’s how long I was supposed to be confined to my room.But punishment doesn’t work the way Xavier thinks it does.Isolation? Silence? A room with a view of the ocean, soft sheets, and a bookshelf full of vintage poetry?That wasn’t punishment. It was preparation.Because the longer I sat in that gilded cage, the more I realized something terrifying.He didn’t just want control.He wanted submission and submission wasn’t in my blood.By the second day, I’d stopped pretending to read. The books blurred in front of me. My mind circled one thing over and over like a shark circling a drop of blood in open water.The office. The file. The photos.The way his voice changed when he said I belonged to him.I kept replaying the way he’d pinned me without touching me. The threat of something more in every word. The heat that surged inside me when he got close.And worse, how much I wanted more of it.That realization made me furious.So on the third night, I changed

I wasn’t sure if it was the architecture of Xavier’s fortress of a mansion or some strange electrical current running through the walls, or if I was just starting to lose my mind. It had only been four days…. four days since I walked into this house. Four days of silence, stiffness, and eyes that followed me like shadows I couldn’t shake.Xavier didn’t speak to me unless it was necessary, but he looked at me. God, he looked at me. Whenever I passed the sitting room where he read the paper, when I stood in the kitchen pouring coffee I didn’t even want, when I wandered into the library and pretended I didn’t feel his presence before I saw him, there was always that brief pause, that moment of stillness, like he was fighting something and losing.I wasn’t winning either.I wore shorts to breakfast, tiny ones, black and soft, clinging to my hips like a second skin. I paired them with an oversized white t-shirt that hung off one shoulder, exposing the strap of my bra. Let him say something

Sophia POV The gates opened, black and heavy, as Xavier drove through. I sat in the back seat, arms crossed. He hadn’t said a word the whole ride.When we stopped, he got out, slammed his door, then opened mine.“Move.”I grabbed my duffel bag. “You’re a real charmer.”“Inside,” he said, already walking ahead.We went down a long hall. I asked, “Where’s the staff?”“You don’t need them.”He stopped at a door, opened it. “This is your room.”I stepped in, glanced around. “Not much color. You allergic to it?”He didn’t react. Instead, he handed me a folded paper.“What’s this?”“Your rules.”I skimmed them, no West Wing, no guests, curfew, mandatory meals, no office access, no purchases, no media, no speaking unless spoken to.I laughed. “You’re kidding.”“You live here under my terms. Disobey, and I’ll make you regret it.”“Do all your prisoners get a list like this?”“This isn’t prison.”“Could’ve fooled me.”He stepped closer. “Push me, little girl, and I’ll push back harder.”“I’m

Sophia POVThe church was half-empty. Not that I expected a crowd. My father wasn’t the kind of man people loved, he was the kind they feared, respected and tolerated at best.The air was thick with incense and fake condolences. I sat on the front pew, stiff in a borrowed black dress that clung too tightly to my chest, and tried not to choke on the weight of silence around me. When the priest mumbled the final amen, I stood before they even lowered the casket, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. If I didn’t leave, I’d scream. Or laugh. Neither would go over well.“Miss Sophia,” a man in a charcoal suit stepped into my path as I reached the doors. “Mr. Hartwell’s office is ready for you.”Of course. The will was the real reason I showed up in this funeral dress. Closure didn’t matter. Money did. I didn’t have enough left to pretend otherwise.I followed him into a sleek black car waiting at the curb, and twenty minutes later, I was sitting in a leather chair opposite my