Novels by Sutanaa

The office was almost unrecognizable at night. The humming of printers and footsteps that filled the air during the day were gone, replaced by a silence so heavy it seemed to press against the walls. Only a few lights remained on, pools of gold against the endless glass windows overlooking the city. Richard and I were the only ones left. I had told myself I’d stay late to finish paperwork, but deep down, I knew it was more than that. Something about him pulled me in not just his authority or presence, but the fragments of vulnerability I’d seen cracking through his usual control. “He was… an alcoholic. The kind that leaves scars you can’t see. He’d come home drunk and… lash out. Sometimes words, sometimes worse.” My throat tightened. “Cassandra took the worst of it. She always stood between us. She became my shield. She worked herself raw just to make sure I could be more than just another broken piece of that house.” Richard’s brow furrowed, but before I could go on, he interrupt

The buzz around the company shifted that week, and at the center of it all was Cassandra Monroe. Her picture had appeared in a business column standing beside Damien Roth at a charity gala, her flawless smile perfectly timed for the cameras. It didn’t matter that Damien’s expression was unreadable; the press didn’t care. The headlines wrote themselves. The Rising Monroe and Roth Enterprise’s Enigmatic Heir. Cassandra soaked it up. Every time I passed her in the hallway, she was surrounded by whispers and stares. Her smirk seemed permanent now, sharpened by the glow of attention. She wanted everyone to believe Damien Roth was hers or that he would be soon. And maybe she even believed it herself. Meanwhile, I sat quietly behind my laptop at night, scrolling through Roth Enterprise’s project forums. Damien’s comments were sparse, but they always drew my eyes. When he posted an observation, it was clear, precise, like cutting glass. I responded when it made sense, careful not to ove

By Wednesday, I was already feeling the weight of the week. Working under Richard Morgan was like standing in a storm you had to keep steady or you’d be swept away. Every day was charts, numbers, edits, rewrites. I was learning, yes, but I was also drained. That afternoon, the cafeteria felt like an escape. The noise, the chatter, the smell of food it reminded me I was still human. “Selena Monroe!” I turned and spotted Alia waving me over with her usual bright smile. She had a tray so full of food it was almost comical. “You’re alive,” she teased as I sat down. “I was starting to think Richard had locked you in his office for good.” I laughed weakly. “Almost. I think I’ve forgotten what sleep feels like.” “Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If you can survive Morgan’s standards, you can survive anything.” Her confidence in me was comforting, but then her tone shifted. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “By the way… I heard Cassandra talking.” My stomach tightened. “What

The hum of the office on Monday morning felt different. There was the usual shuffle of papers, the steady rhythm of keyboards, the muted chime of phones but for me, everything carried an undertone of anticipation. Richard D. Morgan had assigned me to a project directly under him. The thought alone was enough to make my pulse stumble every few minutes. I adjusted my blazer for what felt like the tenth time as I entered the sleek, glass-walled floor where Richard’s division operated. Here, the air felt colder, sharper, as though success itself demanded precision. People walked briskly, not a step wasted, their conversations clipped and professional. Richard’s office sat at the far end, large but not ostentatious. Unlike Damien’s top-floor penthouse suite with its panoramic view, Richard’s space was structured, functional, lined with shelves of reports and thick binders. The man himself stood behind his desk, sleeves rolled neatly at his elbows, reviewing a file. His stern profile sof

I couldn’t bring myself to respond to Damien. What will i even say to him…I'm just an intern having fantasies. The weekend went by and it was Monday. The birds chiming as usual. A quick reminder of what Richard D Morgan my new supervisor said to me.“I’ll be assigning you to a new project,” he said suddenly. My stomach flipped. “Wait, what, why?” “Because you impressed me. And because I need someone I can trust. Cassandra tells me you’re diligent, careful, and not easily intimidated.” Cassandra talks about me? “What’s the project?” I asked cautiously. His eyes met mine, steady and unreadable. “You’ll be working with me. Directly.” I nearly choked on a cherry tomato. “With…you? Like, shadowing you?” “Not shadowing. Collaborating,” he corrected. “Yes, that’s the word.” “But I’m just an intern…” “You won’t be after today.” My head spun. “Does Cassandra know?” “She will.” That was how it began: my unexpected assignment to work directly under Richard D. Morgan, the man whose

The weekend was too quiet. For most people, quiet meant peace. For Selena, it was dangerous. Quiet meant thinking. And thinking meant remembering. No matter how many times she tried to distract herself washing dishes, rearranging the bookshelf, watering her plants her mind kept circling back. Cassandra’s voice from earlier in the week still clung to her, sharp and cold. "That’s why he’ll never really see you." It wasn’t the words that hurt most. It was the way Cassandra had said them. Like a fact carved in stone. Like she wasn’t just predicting the future she was promising it. Selena pressed her lips together and kept dusting the shelf. But under Cassandra’s voice, another memory pushed its way forward. The one from the washroom. The flicker of the light. The blur in the mirror. That prickling on the back of her neck that said she wasn’t alone. She had told herself it was nothing just her imagination. But the truth was, she still didn’t believe herself. By late morning, she