Novels by MARAZ EVETS

The ballroom glowed with the kind of light that made everything look effortless. Chandeliers scattered gold across polished marble; champagne shimmered in crystal flutes; conversation rippled like silk. The charity gala was Ethan’s masterpiece, part fundraiser, part social spectacle and Rae, as always, was meant to be the centerpiece.Her reflection caught in the mirrored pillars, hair swept in soft waves, gown a whisper of ivory satin. She looked composed, elegant, perfect. Unreal.“Smile,” Ethan murmured, his hand sliding to the small of her back. His voice was velvet over steel. “You’re the reason half these people showed up.”Rae obeyed. Her smile appeared on cue, graceful and easy, though her stomach felt hollow. She had learned long ago how to perform happiness in public and how to look radiant while slowly unraveling inside.Across the ballroom, a low hum stirred her attention. Laughter, a ripple of movement, then a familiar voice, deeper now, rougher with age. Dane Mercer.H

The apartment smells like lilies, Ethan’s choice, not hers.The flowers sit on the dining table in a perfect white vase, the kind that looks expensive and fragile, like everything else in their home.Rae stares at them while the rain hums against the glass walls, the city outside blurred into streaks of gold and gray. She’s still half in the boardroom. Dane's voice echoing in her head, sharp and steady.“Still sculpting?” “You’ve changed.”Her fingers drum against the counter.“Long day?” Ethan’s voice cuts through the fog. He stands by the kitchen island, shirt sleeves rolled up, a drink in his hand. His smile is easy too easy. The kind that doesn’t reach his eyes anymore.“You could say that,” Rae murmurs.He studies her for a moment, then sets the glass down and walks closer. “You look tense.”“I’m fine.”“You don’t look fine.”She forces a small smile. “You don’t have to fix everything, Ethan.”He chuckles, low and controlled. “It’s called caring, Rae. Some people appreciate th

The conference room smells like glass and money, sharp, clean, suffocating.Rae sits straighter than she needs to, spine rigid, eyes on the projector screen. Her hands are clasped in her lap, nails pressed into her palm, the pain grounding her. The hum of the AC fills the silence between voices.Across the table, Dane is speaking.His tone is precise, cool, measured, the same way he used to say her name before it meant something. Now he doesn’t say it at all.“ so, if we integrate the design division under joint supervision, the merger stays balanced,” he says, flipping a slide. His voice carries that steady confidence that once steadied her. “But that means full transparency from both sides.”Full transparency. The irony makes her chest tighten.Rae nods, forcing composure. “Agreed. We’ll provide access to our end-of-quarter files by next week.”He doesn’t look at her. “I’ll expect them sooner.”A pause. The others in the room, assistants, board members, consultants glance between

The key still fits. It shouldn’t, but it does.Rae’s fingers tremble as the old metal door groans open, releasing a breath of stale air, clay dust, and memory. The scent hits her all at once earth and turpentine, faintly sweet, faintly raw. It’s the smell of her life before she became someone’s fiancée, before she started curating herself into perfection.The studio hasn’t changed much. Same cracked windows, same streaks of sunlight pooling over half-finished sculptures and tarps. A moth drifts lazily through the still air. Time forgot this place. And maybe, that’s why she came.She drops her bag on the nearest table, shrugs out of her blazer. Her white blouse creased from the day’s board meetings feels like armor she can finally take off. The silence settles around her like a second skin.Her eyes fall on the far corner. A block of marble, waist-high, untouched for years. She approaches it slowly, fingertips brushing its cool surface. The last thing she’d tried to sculpt here was a

The boardroom feels colder than she remembers.It isn’t the air conditioning, it’s him.Dane Hayes sits across the glass table, eyes fixed on the digital display in front of him, jaw locked, posture military. The kind of stillness that’s more dangerous than anger. He hasn’t looked at her once since she entered, though the space between them crackles like live wire.Rae’s pulse trips as she takes her seat, careful, measured, professional. Her voice sounds foreign when she greets the team. “Good morning.”The room hums with polite responses, but none from him.She tells herself it doesn’t matter, that this is business, that she’s over him but the truth leaks through every stolen glance. His presence is gravity, the kind that pulls even when you resist.Two years earlierThe world had felt smaller then, just a rooftop and two reckless hearts.She remembers him in soft light, wind teasing his shirt, paint smudges on his hands from his side job restoring murals downtown. They had been bro

RaeThe city hadn’t changed only I had.The skyline still burned gold at sunset, skyscrapers gleaming like ambition made flesh, cars humming like restless hearts below. But as the elevator carried me up the mirrored tower of Collins Group Headquarters, I felt the sharp truth of every step that had led me back. Five years. Five years since I’d sworn never to return.The doors slid open with a soft chime. A dozen faces turned toward me, perfectly rehearsed smiles masking curiosity. The prodigal daughter returns. My heels clicked against marble as I crossed the floor, a sound too confident for the woman wearing it.“Miss Collins,” the receptionist said, voice clipped and reverent. “Welcome home.”Home. The word bit deeper than it should have.My reflection flashed in the glass, tailored white suit, diamond engagement ring, expression serene. Picture perfect. I’d practiced that look in the mirror long before I earned it.“Everyone’s waiting upstairs,” she added. “Your fiancé included.”Of