Novels by ABY

Ariana’s POVWhen Damian shows up at my apartment again, I know it isn’t good news.His face is its usual mask of stone, his suit perfect, but his eyes give him away — a storm brewing beneath the surface.“What now?” I ask, arms crossed.“My parents,” he says flatly. “They want dinner.”I blink. “With me?”“Yes.”I laugh, sharp and humorless. “Let me guess. They want to inspect the woman who ruined their precious son’s spotless reputation.”His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.I groan. “No. Absolutely not.”“You don’t have a choice.”“Oh, I think I do.” I fold my arms tighter. “Your family doesn’t get to summon me like I’m some servant they need to vet.”His gaze hardens. “It’s not optional, Ariana. If you refuse, they’ll come after you harder. This way, you face them on your terms.”“On my terms? Ha. We both know the terms are theirs.”He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Just… show up. That’s all I ask.”I hesitate. Because as much as I hate the thought of it, a

Damian’s POVThe internet is a vulture.By the time I arrive at my office Monday morning, the story has already mutated into a dozen versions.One clip shows Ariana storming into the restaurant, slapping me hard enough to turn my head. Another angle catches Vanessa walking out in tears. And of course, someone managed to record Ariana shouting about being pregnant.Now the headlines scream across every screen in the lobby:“Damian Cole’s Double Life Exposed?”“Mystery Woman Claims Pregnancy Scandal.”“Cole Empire Rocked by Explosive Dinner Scene.”I stride past the stares of my employees. Phones are discreetly lowered when I catch them watching. Whispers follow me down the corridor like smoke.By the time I reach my office, my phone won’t stop buzzing. The board. Investors. My PR team. Everyone wants answers.I slam the phone on my desk, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city stretches out beneath me, glittering and alive, but today it feels like a predator.This isn’t just

Ariana’s POVStress has been gnawing at me for days, but today it feels like it’s eating me alive.Everywhere I go, whispers follow me. People don’t even try to be discreet anymore.“That’s her, right?”“The one who trapped Damian Cole.”“She doesn’t look like billionaire material to me.”I clutch the milk carton tighter as I shuffle forward in the line at the corner store. My throat is dry, my chest tight, my palms damp.Just pay. Just get out.But the whispers get louder. I feel them pricking at my skin, crawling down my spine. My heart starts to race, too fast, too wild. The air feels thin.My vision tunnels.Not here. Not now.I grip the counter, desperate for balance, but the world tilts sideways. Someone shouts. The milk carton slips from my hands. Cold sweeps over me like a wave......And then nothing.When I open my eyes again, the world is white. Too white.A ceiling. Bright lights. The beeping of a machine. The smell of antiseptic.A hospital.I groan, trying to push myself

Damian’s POVThe Cole estate hasn’t changed in twenty years.It sits on the highest hill like a monument to pride, its sprawling gardens manicured within an inch of their lives. White columns, black iron gates, marble floors polished until they shine. The same as it’s always been.Most people see power when they look at this house. I see chains.The driver slows to a stop in front of the grand staircase. Through the tall windows of the drawing room, I can already see them waiting. My father pacing, fists tight at his sides. My mother sitting gracefully on the couch, pearls at her throat and a glass of white wine in her hand. They look like royalty ready to judge their heir.I adjust my tie, not because I care but because they’ll notice if I don’t, and step inside.The drawing room smells like old money and judgment.My father wheels on me the second I enter, newspaper in his hand, crumpled from being read and reread. My mother’s gaze flicks over me, sharp, assessing, like she’s search

Ariana’s POV)The internet has teeth. Sharp ones.By the third day after the restaurant fiasco, I’ve been chewed and spat out across every gossip blog in the city.“Billionaire Caught in Secret Affair.”“Damian Cole’s Mystery Woman Exposed.”“Pregnant Scandal Shakes Cole Empire.”My name. My face. My body. All plastered online like I’m a circus act.I slam my phone down on the counter and bury my head in my hands.I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want any of it.He didn't use a condom like he said he would. And yet here I am, public enemy number one for daring to carry the wrong man’s baby.A sharp knock rattles my door. I jerk upright, heart hammering.Please, God, not reporters.I creep toward the peephole, holding my breath.And of course.Damian Cole.As if he doesn’t have enough skyscrapers to haunt, he has to bring his cold, controlled energy into my tiny apartment building. He’s standing there in another immaculate suit, hands shoved in his pockets like he has all the time in t

Damian’s POVThere are moments when I wonder why I don’t just let it all burn.Adrian. His scandals. His messes. His endless trail of chaos that somehow always ends up at my feet.But then I remember the last name we share. Cole. And that name means something. At least, it’s supposed to.Tonight though… watching Ariana Blake storm out of that lounge with tears in her eyes, carrying a baby my brother created and discarded?Something twists in my chest I don’t have a name for.Guilt. Responsibility. Rage.Maybe all three.Adrian slouches back in his seat, pouring another glass of whiskey like none of this matters. “Well, that was fun,” he says, smirking. “I give her credit, a fiery little thing. You sure you don’t want her? She might spice up that cold life of yours.”I want to break the glass in his hand. “She’s carrying your child, Adrian. And you laughed in her face.”He shrugs. “Better she learns now than later. I’m not father material.”“You’re not human material.” My voice is low,