Novels by Shawty

Chapter 22 Zariah’s POVThe city outside her windows glittered like a field of diamonds scattered over black velvet.From this height, the streets didn’t roar; they pulsed — a quiet rhythm of headlights and life, a reminder that even when empires trembled, the world refused to pause for anyone.Zariah stood barefoot on the marble floor, one hand resting on the cool glass. Her reflection stared back — still, poised, unreadable. The news cycle had already devoured her, spat her name across headlines, and moved on to the next scandal.But the tremor it left behind still rippled through her company.She had spent the last two days cleaning the mess in silence.Board members reassured. Investors soothed. Leaks traced, or at least narrowed.And through it all, she never once raised her voice.Power didn’t shout.It whispered — and the world bent closer to hear.A faint knock broke the hush.Her assistant’s voice came through the intercom, careful and subdued.“Ma’am, the last file you requ

Chapter 21 Adrian’s POVThe restaurant was too quiet.That kind of silence that cost money — where every clink of glass was swallowed by velvet walls and the hum of secrets.Adrian sat alone at a corner table, his jacket draped neatly over the chair beside him. The waiter had already tried twice to take it away. Twice he’d refused. People like Voss noticed things like that — what a man kept close.He checked his watch. 8:57. Three minutes early.Outside, the city pulsed behind the tinted windows — horns, light, chaos — but in here, everything was control.The maître d’ whispered something near the entrance. Then Voss appeared.A wolf in a silk tie.He didn’t rush, didn’t smile. Just moved — smooth, deliberate — like the air bent to his pace.“Mr. Hale,” Voss greeted, voice calm as water. “You chose an interesting place.”Adrian leaned back, offering nothing but a nod. “The kind of place where people pretend not to listen.”Voss smirked as he sat. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”Th

Chapter 20 Adrian’s POV (The Hunter Becomes the Hunted)The city pulsed beneath him like a living engine.Adrian had always trusted patterns—the way lights blinked in predictable rhythms, the way footsteps echoed differently when someone followed too close. Tonight, nothing matched the rhythm he knew.The photograph lay on the table where he’d dropped it hours ago. It was still damp from the rain that had soaked the courier’s coat. The grainy reflection of his own face in that window stared back, taunting him.Someone had eyes on him.That was unacceptable.He slid the image into a folder, locked it in his desk drawer, and started pacing. The suite was silent except for the faint hum of the city and the tick of his wristwatch. Every sound felt too loud.“Marco,” he said into his earpiece.A click of static. “I’m here.”“Find the woman who delivered the envelope. Every camera from the east side to Park Avenue.”“Already working on it. She’s good—no plates, no trace.”“Then she’s not w

Chapter 19 Adrian’s POVThree days laterThe city didn’t sleep — it watched.And Adrian had always liked that about New York.From his penthouse window, the skyline glowed like a field of restless stars, each one whispering secrets he could use. Below, the world moved in patterns he understood too well — power, greed, fear — the things that made people predictable. The things that made them weak.He took a slow sip from his glass, the amber liquor burning down his throat. The bruise along his jaw had almost faded, but the memory of Damian’s fist hadn’t. It had been a long time since anyone dared touch him like that.He almost respected it. Almost.He set the glass down and turned as the door clicked open.Marco stepped in, quiet as a shadow — ex-military, loyal to money, not friendship. Adrian liked that kind of loyalty.“They’re still not speaking,” Marco said, placing a file on the table. “Zariah hasn’t shown up at the office since that night. Damian’s been handling the press hims

Chapter 18 POVs: Damian & ZariahDamian’s POVMorning came too fast.The city was awake, alive, and indifferent to the ruin that sat across from its skyline.Damian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, the same view he’d once shared with Zariah. Now, it felt colder. The light that touched the glass didn’t reach him.The press was already circling — whispers about her company, her board, that headline. His phone buzzed with calls from investors and men who wanted to “advise” him on damage control. None of them mattered.He’d spent the night replaying every second of what he’d seen in her penthouse.Adrian’s hand.Her silence.The way she hadn’t pushed him away.He’d bled for her empire. Built it beside her name. And she’d looked at him like he was an obligation, not the man who could end nations with a word.Now she’d learn what it meant to cross him.He reached for the file waiting on his desk — Ambrose Holdings Confidential. A copy of her board’s internal reports. Da

Chapter 17POVs: Zariah & DamianZariah’s POVThe moment the lock clicked, time froze.Adrian’s breath still lingered against her cheek, his hand at her jaw. The sound of the door unlocking sliced through the air like a blade.She didn’t move. Couldn’t.The door swung open, and Damian stepped inside — precise, immaculate, dark suit gleaming under the light. His eyes found her first, and then him.Adrian.Everything inside her went still.For a second, no one spoke. Only the city hummed beyond the glass, the skyline reflecting their stillness like a cruel mirror.Then Damian’s voice broke it.“Interesting.” His tone was low, measured — but the danger in it made the air burn. “I didn’t realize you entertained guests this late.”Zariah opened her mouth, but the words tangled. Adrian didn’t flinch. He simply turned toward Damian, relaxed, almost amused.“Guess your invitation got lost in the mail,” Adrian said.The tension snapped like a whip.Damian’s jaw flexed. “You think this is a jok