Novels by Julia Benjamin

The ballroom pulsed with intent.Light spilled from crystal chandeliers, skating across floors polished to a high gleam. Money spoke here, masked as benevolence. But let’s not pretend this was power, dressed up in charity’s finest.Isla Quinn paused at the threshold beside Ares Valtieri, her hand at ease, her posture steady. No nerves. Not tonight. She hadn’t needed guidance on what to wear or how to stand. She chose a black dress uncomplicated, striking, hers. Hair slicked back, nothing elaborate. She looked like she belonged not because she was placed here, but because she arrived and owned it.Ares glanced her way. “You don’t have to stay.”“I know,” she replied.Together, they stepped forward.Flashes fired immediately. Murmurs chased them, skimming Isla’s skin like static, but she didn’t falter. She’d been watched before. What was truly different now? She refused to shrink.Halfway across the floor, it happened.No crash, no shouts.Just the humming of phones.First a few, then a

Fatigue crept up on Isla. It didn’t burst, it slipped behind her eyes, beneath her skin, and settled deep inside her bones. As if she’d earned every bit of it.She woke up weary. Not just weary bone-deep, soul-heavy weary.The penthouse was already awake before sunrise. Security guards traded shifts in that silent, practiced way, hardly a noise. Isla lay there, staring at the ceiling, counting her breaths, waiting for the pressure in her chest to ease.Living like this, guarded, observed, meant never truly relaxing.She moved through her morning on autopilot, always conscious of the cameras, the doors, the people whose whole purpose was to notice everything. It wasn’t fear that crawled beneath her skin. It was being watched every moment. Losing anonymity weighed more than any threat.Her phone vibrated on the counter.Maya.Isla picked up without pause. “Hey.”“I’m okay,” Maya said immediately, getting in first. “I wanted you to know that.”Isla released a breath she hadn’t realized s

Isla woke to a sound that didn’t fit the apartment.It wasn’t loud or frantic. Just a present.She stayed still, eyes tracing the ceiling’s lines, waiting for her senses to catch up. Footsteps steady, never hurried. Voices, low and careful, muffled behind doors. The barely-there click of someone adjusting an earpiece.Security.Not the kind you stop noticing. This was close. Intentional.She sat up, sheets cool against her skin. Ares’ side of the bed looked exactly as it had the night before untouched. He hadn’t come home.When she stepped into the hallway, the whole penthouse felt altered. Not hostile, but… watchful. Two men she didn’t recognize stood by the windows, dark suits, unreadable faces. One dipped his head to her.“Good morning, Ms. Quinn.”Her own name sounded different these days.“Morning,” she replied, voice steady. “Is Ares here?”“He left early. He’ll be back soon.”That wasn’t reassurance. Just formality.She poured coffee. Her hands were steady, even as tension humm

Morning arrived, sly and bright.Sunlight swept across the penthouse, golden and smooth, as if the city had decided to be kind for once. Ares stood at the counter, sleeves pushed up, scrolling through reports on his tablet. He looked calm too calm, Isla thought.That stillness. It always surfaced before something happened.She poured coffee, the hush between them pretending to be peaceful. It didn’t quite succeed.“Did you sleep?” he asked.“Yeah.”He waited a moment. Softer, “You?”He shook his head. “Work.”That word felt different now. Not meetings. No deals. Just work the kind that devoured sleep and left nothing gentle behind.They stood there for a while, sharing the kitchen but not quite the air. A ceasefire, fragile as glass.Then her phone buzzed.Once.Twice.Again.Isla’s frown deepened. She set her mug down, and saw Maya’s name flash on the screen.She answered just before the fourth ring.“Isla?” Maya’s voice was thin, tight. “I—I didn’t know who else to call.”Isla’s sto

The penthouse felt colder than usual.Not cold in any way the thermostat would show Ares always kept the temperature perfect but cold in a way that lingered in the space between them. Overnight, the silence had changed. It wasn’t by accident anymore. It felt deliberate.Ares moved through his morning like a machine. Suit. Watch. Cufflinks. He didn’t touch his coffee. Again.Isla leaned on the counter, watching. He didn’t ask if she’d slept. Didn’t look at her unless necessary.Professional distance.She was used to that armor now.“You’ll stay in today,” he said, tightening his tie. “Media’s stirred up.”She met his eyes. “That’s not a suggestion.”He nodded, as calm as ever. “No. It isn’t.”She drew in a slow breath. “I’m not hiding.”He paused, fingers at his collar. “It’s not hiding. It’s timing.”“That’s what people say when they want control.”His jaw tightened. “This world eats mistakes.”“So do I,” she replied. “Especially when someone treats me like one.”For a moment, she tho

Morning slipped in on quiet feet.Too quiet, really.Isla woke before the city, the penthouse wrapped in a hush that felt deliberate, as if the walls themselves were bracing. Pale gray light crept through the windows, draining the gold from everything it touched.Ares wasn’t there.She hadn’t expected him to be.She found him in the kitchen already dressed, jacket crisp, coffee cooling beside him. He stood with his hands braced on the marble, like he needed it to hold him up.The man who’d unraveled days ago had pieced himself back together with armor in place.“Morning,” she managed.He turned, face composed, polite, impossible to read.“Did you sleep?” he asked.“I did.”A pause.“Good.”That was it. No warmth, no edge. Just distance.She nodded, moving past him to reach for a mug. The silence between them wasn’t sharp, just weighty, heavy enough to press against her ribs. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, wouldn’t come closer, as if touch itself was dangerous again.She knew this pattern.