روايات بقلم Ify Francis

The morning light cut through the thin hotel curtains like a pale blade, burning away the lingering shadows of the night. Chelsea’s eyes snapped open.Beside her, Davis was still deeply asleep, his broad chest rising and falling in heavy, rhythmic cycles. The sharp, bitter scent of stale scotch clung to his skin. He wouldn't be waking up anytime soon—the five shots of Hungarian liquor, combined with the absolute physical exhaustion of the night, had guaranteed a heavy hangover.This is your chance to escape, her mind screamed.She crept out from beneath the heavy duvet, slipping silently onto the cold floor. She gathered her discarded clothes scattered across the rug—her shirt, her jeans, her boots—and pulled them on with trembling, frantic haste. Every creak of the floorboards sent a sharp spike of adrenaline straight to her chest. If she left now, she could get to her father and her little girl, pack their bags, and vanish into another sleepy town before Davis even managed to pull h

"I'm so sorry, Miss Chelsea," the tired young night clerk said with a sympathetic grimace behind the hotel counter. "The storm warning brought in a rush of travelers. We’re completely filled up tonight.""That's fine, Scott," Chelsea said smoothly, hiding the spike of tension in her jaw. "Just give me my room key, please."She took the brass key card, turning to look at Davis, who was leaning heavily against the oak railing of the lobby stairs, looking thoroughly wrecked."I'll lend you my suite for the night," she said softly, reaching out to catch his elbow to steady him. "I won't be staying in it tonight anyway."Davis let out a hollow, breathy sound that might have been a scoff, allowing her to guide him up the narrow staircase. The hotel was a small, creaky affair, brimming with mid-century charm—tight stairwells, brass fixtures, and a faint smell of aged cedar and sea salt. Chelsea moved with an acute, trembling sense of urgency that didn't match her soft voice."Must be... rea

It felt like a quenched fire finding life again just when you were sure you had snuffed out the very last ember. Inside the cramped, wood-paneled warmth of The Cheryl Pub, the low hum of the evening rush felt miles away, drowned out by the thudding of her own pulse against her ribs.There he sat.In a faded, charcoal-gray hoodie that hid the sharp breadth of his shoulders, a heavy glass of scotch clutched in his long fingers, Davis looked like an apparition dragged straight out of the life she’d burned to the ground twelve months ago. His lips were parted, his piercing blue eyes wide with a staggering mix of exhaustion, disbelief, and raw vulnerability.How did he find me? Why now?Panic clawed at her throat, a suffocating, instinctual terror that threatened to strip away her composure. She couldn't run—not right this second. He had seen her. If she bolted now, he’d chase her, and if he chased her, he’d follow the breadcrumbs straight to the tiny, shingled cottage three miles up the c

The Harbor Lights Festival had transformed the island's night air into a chaotic electric hum, turning The Cheryl pub into a hive of nonstop activity. During the festive season, tourists were hardly ever asleep, flooding every entertainment space, bar, and diner until well past midnight. For the kitchen staff, this meant extra work, sweltering heat near the ovens, and a relentless barrage of urgent yelling. Service slips fluttered continuously from the order wheel, and every few minutes, someone barked out a rush order for fries, sliders, or draft beers.Davis sauntered into the packed, dimly lit interior, taking a slow breath to anchor his nerves. He was dressed far down wearing a simple gray hoodie pulled slightly low over his face. Keeping his head down, his sharp dark eyes carefully scanned the room, moving over the wooden booths and crowded tables. He braced himself, half-expecting someone—a tourist or a local—to recognize his face from business journals or city news. But here,

Davis spent the night before their departure locked in his home study, conducting a meticulous, quiet research campaign on Shelter Island. It was a small, tightly-knit sanctuary—a geographic enclave where the arrival of an out-of-town entourage would spread like wildfire through the local grapevine. If he turned up with his usual corporate contingent, the news would reach every corner of the island within hours. Chelsea would know he was present before his boots even hit the pavement, and she would vanish again.He made a hard, non-negotiable decision: he was going alone. No Julia to manage the trunks, no Amber to schedule the itinerary, and no João to clear a path through the crowds.The journey the next day was a stripped-down, logistical puzzle. Davis, Robert, and Kimberley boarded a private charter flight in the early morning, landing at a small airstrip on Long Island before making their way to the ferry terminal. Without his usual staff to shoulder the burdens of travel, the phy

The marble halls of Dylan Corp were usually defined by an atmosphere of quiet, multi-million-dollar efficiency. That efficiency vanished the second the desk phone at the executive assistant station chimed, and Amber pressed the receiver to her ear."This is the Dylan Corp executive line. How can I help?""Amber, put Davis on the phone. Now!" Elena’s voice barked through the speaker, breathless and commanding."Jesus, okay!" Amber gasped, dropping her pen. She didn't bother using the internal intercom. She stood up, smoothing her skirt, and ran down the polished hallway at the absolute maximum speed her three-inch heels could carry her. She pushed through the double frosted-glass doors of the corner suite without knocking. "Davis! You have an urgent call from Elena!"Davis didn't even look up from his tablet, his fountain pen hovering over a contract. He let out a long, heavy sigh. "Aren't you supposed to be on vacation with your husband?" he asked into his desk speaker as he picked up