Novels by Roy Williamson

Bella was already at her desk when Darian arrived.She hadn’t planned it that way. It wasn’t strategy or ambition. It was nerves.Sleep had barely touched her the night before, and by six a.m. she was wide awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying fragments of the trip she hadn’t spoken about out loud. By seven, she was dressed. By eight, she was at the office, coffee untouched, laptop open, pretending that today was just another workday.It wasn’t.She heard him before she saw him.The change in the office atmosphere was immediate, like the air had been pulled tighter. Voices lowered. Movements sharpened. Someone murmured, “Good morning, sir,” with a little too much eagerness.Bella lifted her eyes from her screen just as Darian stepped onto the floor.He looked exactly the same, dark suit, composed expression, that controlled presence that made everything around him fall into order. But something was different.He looked tired.Not weak. Not distracted. Just… edged.Their eyes met.O

Bella didn’t knock when she got to Rachel’s place.She used the spare key like she always did, slipping inside quietly and closing the door behind her with more care than necessary. The apartment smelled familiar, clean laundry, faint citrus from the floor cleaner, something warm cooking in the kitchen. It should have felt comforting. Instead, it made her chest tighten.Rachel’s voice came from the kitchen. “Bella? Is that you?”“Yeah,” Bella replied, setting her bag down by the wall.Rachel appeared a moment later, wiping her hands on a towel. She took one look at Bella and stopped mid-step.“Heyyy, babies, how was the trip”“Okay,” she said slowly. “Something happened?.”Bella forced a small smile. “Hi to you too.”Rachel didn’t return it. She crossed the space between them and studied her face properly this time. Bella’s posture was straight, her clothes neat, her hair pulled back the same way she wore it to work. But there was something off. Something tight in her expression, li

Bella was still unsettled.They had barely stepped out of the conference room when her phone vibrated in her hand. Once. Then stopped. She glanced at the screen out of reflex.Unknown number.Her chest tightened immediately.She slowed her steps without realizing it. Darian was a few paces ahead, already scanning his phone, his jaw tight as if he were replaying a conversation in his head.The phone vibrated again.Unknown number.Bella stopped walking.Darian noticed this time. He turned, eyes narrowing slightly. “Problem?”“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “It’s an unknown number.”He studied her for a brief second. “Answer it.”That surprised her. “You want me to?”“Yes,” he said, flatly. “If it matters, it’ll reveal itself.”Her thumb hovered over the screen. Every instinct screamed at her not to pick up, but she was tired of running from things she didn’t understand.She answered.“Hello?”Silence.Bella frowned. “Hello?”Then came a laugh.Soft. Slow. Mocking.Bella’s spine stif

The name hung in the air like something fragile that had just shattered.Bella felt it before she understood it. The way Darian stopped moving. The way his voice had changed, lower, stripped of authority, edged with disbelief. She straightened slowly, her hands still resting on her open bag, every instinct telling her that something had just shifted.“Vivian?” Darian repeated into the phone, slower this time. “That’s not possible.”Bella watched his face carefully. She had learned how to read him in fragmentstight jaw meant control, narrowed eyes meant irritation. This was neither. This was confusion mixed with something closer to shock. He turned his body slightly away from her, lowering his voice. “When?”A pause.“And you’re sure it was her?”Bella couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but she could see the way Darian’s shoulders tensed, the way his free hand curled into a fist. He walked toward the window, staring out at the unfamiliar city as though the answer might be writt

Chapter 18Vivian Ashford hated commercial flights.She hated the recycled air, the bland smiles from flight attendants, the way people slumped into their seats like cattle being transported instead of individuals with dignity. She hated that no matter how expensive the ticket was, the experience still demanded patience and patience was not something she believed in.She boarded late, deliberately, dragging her carry-on behind her like an accessory rather than luggage. Heads turned as she walked down the aisle, not because she was trying to draw attention, but because attention followed her naturally. Her posture was upright, chin lifted, expression set in mild irritation as if the world around her was slightly disappointing.Her seat was business class. Of course it was.She sat, crossed her legs, and immediately flagged down a flight attendant before the seatbelt sign even turned off.“I asked for sparkling water,” she said coolly. “This is still.”The attendant apologized and hur

She was already angry before she reached the line.That much was obvious to everyone within a five-meter radius.The airport terminal hummed with its usual chaos, rolling suitcases, muffled announcements, crying babies, impatient sighs but her irritation cut through it all like a blade.Her heels clicked sharply against the tiled floor as she marched forward, chin lifted, posture rigid with entitlement.“This is ridiculous,” she snapped, stopping abruptly and forcing the man behind her to stumble. “Do you people enjoy wasting others’ time?”No one answered her. A few heads turned. Most people pretended not to notice. Airports had taught everyone the same survival skill: mind your business.She exhaled loudly, arms folding across her chest.She was dressed to be seen. That much was deliberate.A tailored cream trench coat hugged her slim figure perfectly, the belt cinched tight at the waist.Underneath, glimpses of a fitted black outfit appeared every time she moved. Her heels were exp