Novels by Precious Doherty

Two Weeks Later...The bells tolled like a warning as Amira stood frozen at the foot of the cathedral steps.Her bouquet shook in her hands, thorns biting into her palms. The sharp sting was the only thing keeping her upright while the world screamed around her. “Amira! Over here!”“Miss Westwood, smile for the cameras!”“Is it true this marriage is a business deal?”Flashes exploded like lightning, searing her eyes, her skin, her very soul.They didn’t see a bride.They saw a headline. A scandal wrapped in white silk.Beside her, Giselle’s hand slid over her arm, light and deceptively tender.“Chin up, darling,” she whispered through a flawless smile. “Remember—this isn’t about love. It’s about power.”Amira forced her lips into a curve, even as nausea churned in her stomach. She climbed the marble steps with Giselle at her back, feeling like a lamb being led to the slaughter.The cathedral doors opened. The crowd turned as one. Gasps rippled like wind through leaves.And at the alt

Amira didn’t sleep that night. She sat on the floor of her childhood room, sketchbook open across her knees, the storm rattling the windows outside.Sharp shoulders. White silk. Gold lining.A gown for battle, not beauty.If Giselle thought she was a pawn, Amira would carve her way to queen.The next morning, Amira’s phone buzzed.A new photo. Darren’s hand wrapped around Camila’s waist, their smiles smug and matching.New Beginning, the caption read. Heart emoji. Champagne glass.Her vision blurred with rage. She looked at her vision board, once filled with dreams and glitter.“Mom wouldn’t have let them ruin me,” she whispered.A knock broke the silence.Softer the second time. Marcus.When she opened the door, her father stood there, exhaustion etched into his face.“I saw the photo,” he said.“I didn’t cry,” she replied.“You look like your mother when you say that.” His voice cracked.“She would’ve kicked Giselle out by now.”“She wouldn’t have let me marry her in the first place

“Jesus Christ, Amira!”Her father’s roar filled the Westwood study, slamming against the wood-paneled walls. He stood by the window, his phone clutched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.That night, the world had already decided who Amira Westwood was.WESTWOOD HEIRESS STORMS OUT OF BRUNCHBILLIONAIRE’S DAUGHTER MELTDOWN AMID INVESTIGATIONTROUBLE IN PARADISE? AMIRA WESTWOOD & DARREN COLE DRAMA EXPLODESThe headlines glared back at her from her phone screen, every angle captured — her storming through the rooftop doors, Darren’s hand reaching after her, Camila’s shocked face in the background. Paparazzi had feasted, stitching images together with lies they didn’t need proof for.“Do you realize what you’ve done?!” Marcus Westwood bellowed. “The company is bleeding, the Feds are circling, and now you hand them a spectacle to drag us through the mud?”Amira stood stiff near the desk, hands balled into fists. “I I didn’t plan for—”“You didn’t think!” Marcus cut her off, pac

The night after the gala was a blur.Amira had taken off the silver gown in silence, folded it neatly on the dressing chair, and slipped into bed without removing her earrings. She hadn’t cried. Even pouring herself a drink felt exhausting.By morning, the Westwood estate felt colder, the air heavy with secrets.A sharp knock rattled her door.“Miss Amira,” the butler said when she opened it, bowing slightly. “Your father requests your presence in the study. Urgently.”Marcus never summoned her this early unless disaster was near.Amira slipped a velvet robe over her silk slip and hurried down the hall. Eli leaned against the banister, phone in hand. His eyes followed her, sharp and unreadable, but he said nothing.When she entered the study, Marcus sat rigid behind his desk, Giselle lounging on the sofa with a crystal glass in hand, already playing queen of the ruin.“Sit,” Marcus said roughly.Amira sat, heart pounding. “What’s wrong?”“It’s about the company,” Marcus said. “The Fed

"I’m trying my best here, Amira. Don’t you get it, I’m trying."Darren’s voice was tight, impatient, like she’d dragged him into a conversation he didn’t have time for. They stood in the corner of his apartment, the skyline behind them bleeding into dusk."Trying?" she repeated, crossing her arms. "You missed dinner again. You’ve been missing everything lately.""Work is insane right now. You think I want to keep cancelling on you?"She tilted her head. "I think you want the idea of me, not the reality."His jaw tensed. The air between them felt crowded. "Why does every time we see each other have to turn into this?""Because you don’t see me," she said quietly.He ran a hand through his perfectly combed hair, a move so practiced it felt staged. "This isn’t the time for this conversation. I was going to—" He stopped, glancing toward the door."Going to what?""Forget it," he muttered. He grabbed his jacket, shrugged it over his shoulders, and reached for the doorknob. "I’ll see you at