Novels by Nyxara

Eliora’s POVI shifted in the bed, the movement sending a dull, throbbing ache through my chest. The machines hummed a steady, rhythmic reassurance that I was still alive, but I didn't feel alive. I felt like a ghost haunting my own broken body."Easy, Eli. Don't try to move too fast."Elijah was there. He was always there. He sat in the stiff plastic chair beside my bed, his presence a calm anchor in the middle of my storm. He reached out, his hand warm as he gently adjusted the thin thermal blanket over my legs."Elijah," I rasped, my throat feeling like it had been scraped with sandpaper. I reached for his hand, my fingers trembling. "Ezra... I need to see him. I need to hold my baby. Please, can you bring him? Just for an hour?"A shadow of something heavy crossed Elijah’s face. He squeezed my hand, but his expression remained firm, filled with a protective caution that made my heart sink."You know I want that more than anything, Eli," he whispered, leaning closer. "But it’s dang

Kian’s POVThe fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway felt like they were vibrating, humming with a high-pitched frequency that set my teeth on edge. My heart was still hammering against my ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm that I couldn't throttle into submission. I could still see her. Even when I closed my eyes, the image was burned into my retinas: the way Eli’s eyes had gone wide and hollow, the way she had recoiled from my touch as if my hands were made of liquid fire."Don't."That one word was a jagged blade, and it was currently buried deep in my chest, twisting with every breath I took."Mr. Donovan," a calm, clinical voice broke through the roar in my ears. I turned to see Dr. Aris standing there, his hands tucked into the pockets of his white coat. His expression wasn't unkind, but it was firm, the look of a man who dealt with life and death every day and didn't have time for a billionaire’s ego. "I’m going to have to ask you to stay away from her room for the time bein

Eliora’s POVThe blue walls of the hospital room felt like they were inching closer with every breath I took. The air was thick with the scent of lavender, which strangely reminded me of Kian, it felt like a noose tightening around my throat. I clutched Zoey’s hand so hard I could feel the individual bones in her fingers, but I couldn’t let go. If I let go, I’d fall back into that dark, cold place where the truck was always hitting me."Eli, you have to breathe," Zoey whispered, her voice trembling. "You’re worked up. You’re going to hurt yourself.""How can I breathe?" I rasped, the words tearing at my raw throat. "Zoey, it wasn’t just the crash. It’s been weeks. The messages... the private numbers calling me at three in the morning... the envelopes left on my doorstep with no return address. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to be a target too."Zoey’s eyes widened, her face pale under the harsh LED lights. "Threats? Eli…” She swallowed, trying to take in the information

Eliora’s POVThe world wasn't a place; it was a weight. It was the crushing sensation of being buried alive under layers of cold, wet earth, with a high-pitched ringing in my ears that sounded like a tea kettle screaming in a distant room. There were flashes of the nightmare, jagged, strobe-light memories of blinding white high beams, the smell of burnt rubber, and the screech of metal screaming against metal as my world folded in on itself.But louder than the crash, sharper than the glass, was that voice.“Farewell, Rora.”The name had been a caress and a death sentence, delivered in a tone that vibrated with a cold, familiar possessiveness. It was a voice I would know in the depths of hell, yet it had been twisted through a filter, turned into something mechanical and monstrous.My eyelids felt like they had been stitched shut with lead wire. I fought the heaviness, pushing through a thick, chemical fog that made my limbs feel like they belonged to someone else—someone made of ston

Kian’s POVThe hallway leading to Room 402 felt miles long. My footsteps were heavy, the soles of my shoes dragging slightly against the linoleum. For days, I had been the strategist, the hunter, the man behind a glass window. But the guilt of Elijah’s words and Zoey’s question had pushed me to a breaking point.I pushed the door open. The room was bathed in a dim, clinical blue light, the only sound being the rhythmic beep... beep... beep of the heart monitor.I walked to the bedside, my chest tightening until it felt like my ribs might snap. Eliora looked so fragile, a stark contrast to the fire-spitting woman I had argued with in my office weeks ago. A thick white bandage was wrapped around her head, a stark contrast against her dark hair. Deep, violet bruises bloomed across her cheek and the corner of her swollen lip. Her fingers, usually so busy typing or sketching characters, were scraped and raw, and I could see the heavy dressings on her feet where the glass had shattered.

Kian’s POVThe hospital at three in the morning was a ghost town of flickering fluorescent lights and the smell of industrial-grade despair. I walked back through the sliding glass doors, the automatic hum sounding like a tired sigh. My footsteps echoed against the sterile white tile, sharp and rhythmic, like gunshots in a canyon.I felt like a hollowed-out version of the man who had left this building hours ago. My jaw throbbed where Elijah’s fist had connected, a dull, pulsing reminder of the truth that was currently dismantling my soul. His words were a physical weight in my gut, dragging me down into a dark, suffocating sea of guilt that I couldn't swim out of.Your child died two years ago.Every breath I took felt like I was inhaling crushed glass. I had spent three years nursing my pride, hating Eliora for the way she disappeared, when all along, she had been buried under the weight of a grief I had helped build. I had been the storm, and she had been the one left picking up th