Novels by Emeraldwrites

‎Mikhail’s POVThe mansion had never been this quiet before.‎Not even after deaths.‎Not after funerals.‎Not after bloodshed.‎This silence was different.‎It felt hollow.‎Rotting.‎Like the entire house had finally become what Nora always called it from the very beginning.‎A cage.‎The flowers in the living room had died days ago. Nobody bothered replacing them anymore. The roses I once filled the mansion with for her had withered into dark brittle things before the maids finally threw them away. Even the marble halls felt colder now, stripped of the warmth her presence unknowingly brought into them.‎I spent most days locked inside my office.‎When I was not working, I was drinking.‎And when I was not drinking, I was staring at the ceiling unable to sleep because every time I closed my eyes, I saw blood soaking through Nora’s clothes while she cried about our baby.‎Our baby.‎Even now, two weeks later, the words still carved through me like glass.‎The whiskey burned going dow

‎Nora’s POV‎‎Pain wakes me first.‎Not sharp.‎Not violent.‎Just deep.‎Heavy.‎Like my entire body has been hollowed out and stitched back together wrong.‎My eyelids feel too heavy to open at first. My throat burns like sandpaper and every breath tastes sterile and cold. Somewhere nearby, machines beep steadily in slow repetitive patterns.‎I force my eyes open.‎Light floods my vision instantly, making me wince.‎Everything is blurry at first.‎White ceiling.‎Soft gray walls.‎A large window with pale morning light bleeding through the curtains.‎It takes several seconds for my vision to fully adjust before I realize I am lying in a hospital bed.‎Private room.‎Private wing.‎Of course.‎Romanov money could probably buy an entire hospital if they wanted.‎My head turns slightly.‎Flowers.‎So many flowers.‎Bouquets cover nearly every available surface in the room. White roses. Lilies. Orchids. Expensive arrangements tied with silk ribbons. Cards rest beside them, some handwri

‎Nora’s POV‎‎The SUV flies down the highway like a bullet ripping through darkness.‎Everything shakes.‎The engine screams beneath us while the driver fights the wheel with both hands. Trees blur past the windows in streaks of black and gray. Rain from earlier still clings to the road, making every sharp turn feel like we are seconds away from death.‎Behind us, headlights remain locked on our tail.‎Mikhail.‎I can feel him even before I see him again.‎Relentless.‎Viktor grips my arm tighter as another gunshot cracks through the night.‎The rear of the SUV jerks violently.‎“Faster!” Viktor snaps.‎“We are losing the tire!” the driver yells back.‎Another shot rings out.‎Then another.‎The fourth bullet destroys the tire completely.‎The explosion is deafening.‎The SUV swerves hard.‎Everything happens at once.‎The driver loses control instantly. Tires screech against wet asphalt as the vehicle fishtails across the highway. My shoulder slams painfully into the door while Vikt

‎Nora’s POV‎The room smells like metal, dust, and old rain trapped inside concrete.‎I sit tied to the chair exactly where Lucien left me, my wrists raw from struggling too long against ropes that refuse to loosen. The bulb above me flickers every few seconds, throwing weak yellow light across the walls before dimming again. Time drags strangely here. Every minute feels stretched thin and uneven.‎At some point, exhaustion settles into my bones so deeply that even fear becomes tiring.‎But my mind never stops.‎It keeps circling the same things over and over again.‎My parents.‎The accident.‎Mikhail.‎The pregnancy I still have not spoken aloud.‎My stomach twists painfully at the thought of it. I press my bound hands tighter against the chair behind me and force myself not to think about it. I cannot afford to break now. Not here.‎The door opens again.‎Lucien walks in carrying a glass of water. Calm. Composed. Like he is visiting someone instead of holding them captive.‎He crou

‎Mikhail’s POV‎The first hour after Nora disappears is the worst because I still believe I can fix it quickly.‎People like me are used to control. We pull strings, move pieces, make calls and things happen. Doors open. Men appear. Problems disappear. That is how my world works. It has always worked that way.‎But not tonight.‎Tonight every lead collapses into another dead end, every answer arrives half broken, and the longer she stays missing, the louder the thoughts become.‎She was alone.‎That thought keeps circling back like a blade dragged repeatedly across skin.‎Alone.‎No guards. No escort. No protection.‎I should have known she would run the moment things became too heavy. I should have seen it in the way she looked at me after the warehouse, after Caleb talked, after every ugly truth crawled into the light. There had been distance in her eyes. Something retreating from me inch by inch.‎And I let her walk out anyway.‎The SUV tears through the city while Aleksei works be

‎Nora’s POV,‎Unknown Location...‎Pain wakes me.‎Slow.‎Thick.‎Like I’m swimming up through tar.‎My head pounds.‎My mouth is dry.‎My limbs—‎Heavy.‎Too heavy.‎I try to move.‎Metal clinks.‎My eyes snap open.‎Darkness.‎Not complete.‎Dim light flickers from somewhere above—yellow, weak, unstable.‎I blink.‎Force my vision to focus.‎Concrete walls.‎Bare.‎Cold.‎A single bulb swinging slightly from the ceiling.‎I’m sitting on a chair.‎No, strapped to it.‎Wrists bound behind me.‎Ankles tied.‎Rope.‎Tight enough to burn.‎Panic surges instantly.‎Sharp.‎Violent.‎I jerk against the restraints.‎Useless.‎“Easy.”‎The voice comes from the shadows.‎Male.‎Calm.‎Familiar in the worst way.‎My heart stutters.‎“No…” I whisper.‎A figure steps forward.‎And the world tilts.‎“Hello, Nora.”‎Lucien.‎He looks… composed.‎Untouched.‎Like he didn’t just rip me out of my life and drag me into a nightmare.‎My chest heaves.‎“You—”‎“So many questions in those eyes,” he says

‎Elara’s POV.‎The palace changes the instant Lyriel says the name.‎One moment the corridors are quiet, dim violet light and distant echoes.‎The next, alarms ring through the stone like screaming bells—deep, bone-rattling chimes that make the moonflowers wilt and Sael’s fur bristle with real flame.‎Guards pour from every archway, wings and claws and blades flashing.‎Lockdown.‎The word ripples through the air like a command.‎Lyriel grabs my wrist, wings flaring wide.‎“We have to move. Now.”‎We run.‎Sael races ahead, yipping warnings at corners.‎Behind us, the shadows on the walls twist and stretch, reaching.‎I feel them—cold fingers brushing the back of my neck.‎We burst into my chambers.‎Lyriel slams the door and presses both palms to it.‎Runes flare silver across the wood, sealing it.‎She leans there, breathing hard.‎“He’s inside,” she whispers. “Kael is inside the palace.”‎My blood turns to ice.‎“How?”‎“Impossible,” she says, voice shaking. “Draven wove barriers c

Defiant Shadows.Draven.The night after the walkI stand in the courtyard long after she disappears inside.The false stars above me pulse like they’re mocking my heartbeat.I told her to go to her chambers before I did something we would both regret.I lied.The regret is already here, gnawing at the edges of everything I thought I had buried.She laughed at dinner.Not the polite, hollow sound the court makes. A real laugh —short, surprised, bright as a blade.It caught me off guard so completely I nearly dropped my glass.I have not heard anyone laugh like that in centuries.I hate her for it.I hate myself more for noticing.I finally force my feet to move.The corridors are empty, silver torches flickering low. My boots echo too loud. Shadows trail me like obedient hounds.Except one.One shadow lingers at the corner where her corridor branches off, stretching longer than it should, darker than the rest.I stop.It does not.I narrow my eyes.“Return,” I command.The shadow quiv

‎The Long Table ‎Elara ‎The evening after the court confrontation‎Lyriel leads me back to the chambers she prepared earlier —the ones with the starlit bath and midnight silk bed. Sael, the fox cub, trots at my heels, yipping every time his tiny paws slip on the polished obsidian floor.‎The door shuts behind us.‎I lean against it and finally let my knees shake.‎Lyriel watches me with those fractured-glass eyes, wings folded tight.‎“You were magnificent,” she says quietly. “Reckless. But magnificent.”‎I laugh, it comes out brittle.‎“Magnificent gets me threatened with ruin and ashes.”‎She tilts her head. “It also gets you noticed. The court has not been this alive in centuries.”‎Before I can answer, lightning crackles in the air.‎Mireth materializes in the middle of the room, hair wilder than before, smelling of ozone and satisfaction.‎“My ferocious girl!” she crows, sweeping me into a hug that smells like rain on hot stone. “The entire kingdom is talking about you. You cal

Damned Traditions.Elara—I wake to lightning and fresh bread.The door is wide open. Violet dawn spills across moonflowers that weren’t there when I fell asleep. A woman stands in the doorway balancing a silver tray like she’s about to declare war with pastries.Tall, wild silver-black hair crackling, eyes like colliding galaxies, gown made of living stormclouds.“Good morning, my ferocious little star!” she sings. “I am Mireth, queen of this gloomy pile, and your new mother whether you like it or not. Eat before you faint and ruin my plans.”I sit up slowly. “You’re the queen?”“Guilty. Also part-time goddess of minor chaos. Sit. Eat. Tell me how you made moonflowers grow in a tomb.”She notices the bruises on my wrists.Lightning snaps across her knuckles.“Who chained you?” she asks, voice suddenly soft and deadly.“Everyone,” I answer.“Names,” she says. “I collect them for kindling.”I spill everything —throne room, blood ritual, my father’s new title, Seraphine’s engagement, t

CAGED.Draven’s POVI have done this ninety-nine times.Ninety-nine cages rolled through my gates.Ninety-nine trembling girls in white.Ninety-nine times I have looked at them and seen Aveline’s ghost wearing a new face.Tonight is the hundredth.And I am already breaking.I stand on the balcony of the west wing, claws digging into obsidian stone hard enough to leave grooves. Below, the procession winds through the outer courtyard like a funeral made of moonlight. The cage-wagon is beautiful (black iron gilded to hide the bars). The girl inside is a blade of ivory and silver fury.I watched her arrive.I watched her lift her chin and tell me to kill her quickly.I laughed —gods help me, I laughed because no one has ever looked at me like that. Not in a thousand years.Not since Aveline begged me to run with her instead.I sent the girl to the worst room because I am a coward.The west wing is a ruin (walls cracked from the last time Kael and I tried to murder each other, windows shat

Chapter 8Kingdom Of Eldoria ElaraNine days.Nine days in a stone box beneath Highmont Palace where the only light is a torch that never quite reaches the corners.Nine days of chains that burn cold, of water that tastes of rust, of bread hard enough to break teeth.Nine days of silence so complete I start talking to the black scale just to remember my own voice.It answers, sometimes.Not in words. In heat. In pressure against my ribs like a second heart trying to crawl out.I keep replaying the throne room.Every face. Every cheer. Every lie.Most of all, I replay my family.Father’s voice, ringing false: My daughter volunteers herself…Mother’s perfect tears that never smudged her paint.Seraphine’s sapphire tiara already gleaming in her hair like she was born to wear it.Isla whispering my name until the doors shut.On the fourth day a guard shoves a broadsheet under the cell door.I unroll it with shaking fingers.The headline is in letters an inch tall:GENERAL WYNNE APPOINTE

♣️ HOOK LINE AND SINKER ISABELLA.I stroll in casually into the garage, having driven here all on my own cause I needed to see where he worked, and maybe see his face again. So imagine my surprise- and disappointment when I see that he is not alone- there’s a girl there with him, and another guy who looks to be about his age, but shorter and bulky. But the girl…I’m interrupted from my thoughts when someone clears their throat, calling my attention.“Miss, a bit of a surprise seeing you here. Need a fix? Is the car acting up again?” Daniel asks, now fully facing me. He has that cool air that reverbrates around him that I just can’t describe- it’s pissing me off, but intriguing at the same time.“Not at all. I’m only here because I feel indebted to you. So it’s only natural that I give you what you had rejected earlier on”. I say, pulling out a wad of cash from my purse.In all honesty, I wasn’t here to give him the money- though I would if he eventually takes it- I want to test hi

♣️ Dystopian Feelings.‎Something is wrong with me.‎If there was one thing I disliked more than inefficiency, it was unpredictability.‎And yet, ‎I found myself arriving at brunch ten minutes early.‎I never arrived early.‎I stepped out of the car, handing my keys to the valet without a second glance before walking into the restaurant.‎It was one of Sofia’s favorites. Minimalist, expensive, and filled with people who pretended not to stare while doing exactly that.‎I didn’t notice them.‎I was still thinking about him.‎That in itself was a problem.‎“Isabella.”‎I looked up.‎Sofia was already seated, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of wine in hand despite the time of day.‎Her red hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the light like fire. She looked effortless, composed, dangerous in a way that matched me but expressed itself differently.‎Where I was quiet—‎Sofia was not.‎“You’re late,” she said, raising a brow.‎“I’m early.”‎She checked her watch.‎Th

The Woman They Fear♣️‎♣️ ISABELLA'S POV‎‎I don’t sleep much.‎Not because I can’t.‎Because I don’t need to.‎The city stretched beneath me in a quiet glow, California alive even in the early hours of the morning. Lights flickered in the distance, cars moving like slow streams of gold across the highway. From up here, everything looked small.‎Manageable.‎I lifted the glass to my lips, taking a slow sip of red wine as I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of my bedroom.‎White silk brushed against my skin, my robe loosely tied, barely clinging to my frame. The air was cool, but I didn’t feel it. I rarely felt anything I didn’t choose to.‎My phone buzzed against the glass table behind me.‎I didn’t turn immediately.‎I already knew who it was.‎It rang again.‎Persistent.‎I sighed softly, placing the wine down before walking over, picking it up on the third ring.‎“Uncle.”‎“You didn’t call.”‎Straight to the point.‎Always.‎I moved back toward the window, resting my hip lightl

The Woman He Built ‎🖤♣️ ‎The tarp lifted, and the world returned in a flood of light.‎Isabella blinked once, adjusting, her pupils shrinking against the brightness. The man standing over her did not move like the others. He did not startle. He did not shout.‎He simply looked.‎Mateo Reyes.‎She recognized him immediately. Not because she had seen him often, but because she had been trained to remember faces that mattered. Her father had shown her photographs once. Not with affection, but with purpose.‎“If anything ever happens, you find him.”‎Now she had.‎Mateo’s gaze was steady, heavy, assessing. His face carried the same bones as her father’s, but age and experience had carved deeper lines into it. Where her father had looked controlled, Mateo looked hardened. Less restrained. More dangerous.‎“You got on my boat,” he said.‎His tone was not angry. It was factual.‎Isabella pushed herself up from beneath the tarp, dust clinging to her dress. She stood in front of him, small

🖤♣️The Collapse🖤♣️‎“Isabella, put away your Barbie dolls and come to the dinner table.”‎Her mother’s voice floated through the wide halls of the mansion—warm, steady, familiar.‎Seven-year-old Isabella Marisol Reyes sat cross-legged on the polished marble floor, her dolls arranged in careful, deliberate rows. Not scattered. Never scattered. Even at her age, there was order in everything she did.‎She tilted her head slightly, studying them.‎One doll sat apart from the others.‎“Not you,” she murmured, adjusting it with quiet precision. “You don’t belong there.”‎Her small fingers moved with surprising certainty, placing each figure exactly where she wanted them. A game, to anyone else. But to Isabella, it was something else—control. Structure. A world where nothing happened unless she allowed it.‎“Isabella,” her mother called again, a little firmer this time, though still gentle. “Now.”‎She sighed softly, the sound far too measured for a child her