Novels by Mulan Writer

I sat on the edge of my bed, the soft hum of the fan above blending with the quiet of my room. Around me, my packed luggage stood like silent witnesses to a decision I had yet to fully process. The divorce papers lay across the small table beside me, crisp and final, the ink still smelling faintly of authority and inevitability.I picked them up again, letting my fingers trace the edges, and I wondered… had I fulfilled Victor’s dying wish? Had I done what he hoped I would do?The thought carried me back to those long days in the hospital, years ago. I could still see him lying there, frail, yet sharp-eyed, a spark of the man he had been stubbornly alive in his gaze. I had sat by his side for hours, tending to his needs, listening to his thoughts, his regrets, his hopes.“I don’t know where I went wrong with Adrian,” he had whispered one evening, voice raspy. His hand reached for mine, though I held back, knowing the weight of it. “I thought… I thought I was raising a son who would fin

A few weeks before his death, Victor called me to his hospital room. The faint smell of antiseptic hung in the air, sharp and sterile, clinging to everything. He lay propped against crisp white pillows, frail and tethered to machines, his face thinner by the day, but his eyes were still sharp when they found mine.“Elena,” he said softly. “Come closer.”I moved to the chair beside his bed and sat down, my bag resting stiffly in my lap. My fingers curled around it so tightly my knuckles turned pale. The heart monitor hummed beside him, steady, each sound pressing against the silence.“I need to ask something of you,” he said.Something in his voice made my stomach tighten. “What is it?”He looked at me for a long moment, as if weighing the words before letting them go. “I want you to marry my grandson.”The words settled between us heavily.For a moment, I could only stare at him. I had expected many things, but not that. Not this.“I…” My throat felt dry. “Sir, I don’t understand.”“I

Seven Years Ago“You’re not listening to me, Elena.”“I am, Mum.”I wasn’t.I was staring at the road, but all I could see were numbers. Debts. Deadlines. The weight my father had left behind.“They came again yesterday,” she said. “I can’t keep telling them to wait.”My grip tightened around my phone. “I’ll handle it.”“How?”I didn’t answer.“Elena—”“I’ll call you back,” I said quickly. “I’m crossing the road.”A pause. Then she spoke softly, “Be careful.”“I will.”I lowered the phone but didn’t hang up. Just for a second, I stood there, breathing, steadying myself.Then I stepped forward.The engine came out of nowhere.Loud. Fast. Too close.My head snapped up–Headlights.Everything froze.A sharp screech split the air as the bike swerved violently, missing me by inches. The force of it pushed me back, my heart slamming as the rider barely kept control before stopping a few meters away.Silence followed.Then I ran.“I’m so sorry, are you okay?”The words spilled out as I reach

Something had changed.I could feel it vibrating in the air, though the shift wasn't in the penthouse, and it certainly wasn't in Adrian. It was in me. For seven years, this sprawling residence had been a gilded cage fashioned from cold glass and expensive marble. It was beautiful, prestigious, and utterly suffocating. Every day, I had moved through its halls like a dutiful ghost, cleaning, cooking, and waiting.Always waiting. Waiting for a husband who looked through me as if I were part of the architecture.But today, the air felt lighter. The suffocating weight on my chest had vanished because, for the first time, I had finally stopped waiting.I sat on the plush velvet sofa in the living room, the television flickering softly. A random, high-melodrama was playing, the characters wailing about grand betrayals and shattered hearts. I found it ironically appropriate.Behind me, the private elevator chimed, the doors sliding open with a soft, expensive hiss. I didn’t turn around. I di

The coffee shop smelled of roasted beans and warm cinnamon, a comforting embrace that felt utterly foreign to a life as cold as mine.I wrapped both hands around my ceramic cup, seeking its warmth even though the dark liquid inside had long since gone cold. Across the small table, Clara leaned forward, her sharp eyes scanning my face with a mixture of raw curiosity and fierce concern. Clara had always been my anchor, straightforward, protective, and unshakable. We had met years ago, back when I was just a girl in a caregiver’s uniform, long before my identity was swallowed by the heavy shadow of Adrian Michael’s name.Before the contract. Before the hollow marriage. Before the slow, agonizing erosion of the woman I used to be.“So?” Clara pressed, her voice a low urgent whisper. “Tell me you’ve finally done it.”I exhaled a breath I felt like I’d been holding for seven years. “I booked the flight.”Her face ignited instantly. “Oh my God, Elena!” She clapped her hands once, the sharp s

Pain arrived long before awareness.A dull, throbbing pressure pulsed rhythmically behind my eyes as the fog of unconsciousness slowly retreated. The first thing to hit me wasn't a memory, but a smell, the sterile, biting scent of antiseptic and industrial disinfectant.A hospital.My eyelids felt like lead as I forced them open. The clinical, bright white ceiling above me was a blur at first, swirling before finally snapping into a sharp, unforgiving focus. For a heartbeat, my mind was a blank slate. Then, the memories rushed back with the force of a tidal wave.The warehouse. The ringing phone. Adrian’s voice on the other end. The terrifying screech of tires. The bone-jarring impact.A quiet groan slipped past my lips as I tried to shift my weight in the stiff hospital bed.“Easy.”A nurse appeared at my side, her voice a calm anchor in my confusion. “You had a minor accident,” she said gently, adjusting the IV line. “You hit your head, but it’s only a mild concussion. You’re lucky.