Novels by Janine Lozano

The bass from the club below was a dull thrum beneath my feet, but my focus was locked on her. Carrie Tuazon. Standing in my suite, flushed from liquor, trembling, chin lifted in that same defiant tilt, like she still believed she could fight me off with words.The sound of the music beneath us vibrated through the floor, heavy and reckless. The rhythm pulsed like a heartbeat under the marble tiles, like the city itself was urging something to happen. My suite was insulated from the neon chaos outside, but I could still feel the echo of the crowd, the energy, the electricity of bodies moving and losing themselves in anonymity. Up here, though, nothing was anonymous. Everything was sharp. Everything was real. Her presence filled every inch of the room.She said it was a wrong turn. I didn't believe her. Nothing in Elysium was ever accidental, least of all her ending up here.Her voice had wavered when she said it. Barely. Just enough for me to see the truth hiding under her lie. People

The helicopter's blades had long since gone quiet, but Carrie's pulse still hammered in her ears.Andrew stood before her, roughened by sleepless nights, his jaw shadowed, his eyes dark. He didn't look like the Andrew Lorenzo who grinned at cameras and charmed entire rooms. He looked stripped down, raw, and unflinchingly present.He walked toward her almost in slow motion, his gaze catching on Alex's hand still resting protectively on her arm. Andrew's eyes flickered, sharp and assessing, lingering just long enough to make the tension in the air tremble."Carrie." His voice cracked but steadied. "Can I talk to you? Alone?"Alex stayed firm at her side, silent but steady, while Andrew's focus never wavered from her."No," Carrie said, her tone hard. "If you have something to say, say it in front of Alex."For a fleeting moment, she caught it, rage, jealousy, flashing behind Andrew's eyes before he swallowed it back."Kara and I," he began, his voice low and measured, "we were never any

The days in Bicol stretched long and unhurried, each one softening Carrie a little more. And somewhere in that quiet rhythm, Alex became a constant presence.Carrie woke to roosters instead of traffic, to the rustle of leaves instead of elevator chimes. She slept eight hours without nightmares. She ate meals without reading emails between bites. She realized she had forgotten what it was like to breathe deeply. Her heart, once bruised and swollen, no longer felt like a wound.He would stop by after his rounds, sometimes carrying a basket of freshly picked calamansi, other times with nothing but a lazy grin and a casual, "Let's go for a drive." He was easy to be around, never asking for more than she was ready to give. With him, silence felt comfortable instead of heavy.They drove with the windows down, warm wind whipping her hair, the scent of rice fields filling the air. He pointed out landmarks, the bakery that sold the best pan de sal, the sari-sari store run by someone who gossip

Bicol had a way of slowing Carrie's heartbeat. The mornings were cool, the air cleaner than anything in Manila, and the sky stretched wide and unbroken. She woke early, slipping into simple clothes, taking long walks through the garden her parents tended with love. She felt like she could breathe here, like the heaviness in her chest finally had room to loosen.Her parents didn't press her for explanations. They simply fed her, laughed with her, and let her sit in silence when she needed it. It was enough.It was during one of these mornings that she met Alex.He arrived in a dusty pickup, a quiet confidence about him that made him look perfectly at home among the coconut trees and the smell of earth. Her mother greeted him warmly, introducing him as "our family veterinarian." He had apparently taken over the practice from his father, who had cared for the Tuazon pets and livestock for decades.Carrie extended her hand, and Alex smiled, his grip warm and steady."You're the daughter f

Ever since the confrontation with Andrew, Carrie refused to shed another tear for him. Not in public. Not in private. She put on her brave face and wore it like armor, every smile carefully rehearsed, every word clipped and steady. If anyone noticed the shadows under her eyes, they didn't dare mention it.She threw herself into her work with a kind of desperation that almost scared her. She was everywhere at once, approving layouts, fixing pitches, reviewing articles at a pace that made her staff both grateful and terrified. People praised her for being composed, for handling pressure without flinching. No one realized she was simply distracting herself from the ache that gnawed beneath her sternum.The media, to her surprise, had gone quiet. No photos of Andrew and Kara. No stories about their supposed reconciliation or her. But Carrie wasn't naive. She knew silence didn't come for free. The Lorenzos were billionaires, with enough money to buy influence, to smooth away whispers, to b

Carrie had not wanted to attend another gala. She was still recovering from the hospital, her body fragile, but Joan had insisted. "You need to show face, Car. Let them see you are fine. Strong."Her body protested every step as she dressed. The zipper felt like armor being fastened around her. Her reflection stared back from the mirror, pale but determined. She pressed color into her cheeks, pinned her hair with steady hands, and told herself she could handle this. She had faced deadlines harsher than socialites. She had survived worse heartbreaks than gossip.So she went. Clad in black silk, chin high, she moved through the glittering crowd with practiced poise, counting the minutes until she could leave.She moved like a queen through a kingdom made of glass and rumor. The ballroom sparkled beneath chandeliers, violins carried a polished melody, laughter bubbled around champagne flutes. Every step she took reminded her of the IV needles, the flimsy hospital gown, the cold of being

Her file landed on my desk with all the weight of a nuisance.Sofia Reyes. Lifestyle writer. The kind of name that drifted through company directories without leaving ripples. Forgettable photo clipped to the corner, hair straight, smile forced, eyes that looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. The sort of eyes that belonged to someone who’d learned to endure fluorescent office lighting and polite small talk. The image lacked personality, lacked presence. It was the kind of picture people take when they are told they must, not when they wish to be seen.Ordinary. Forgettable. Unlikely. That was my first impression. A quick assessment, easy to make. The world handed me hundreds of faces a year and most of them blurred together. I expected hers to do the same.But Andrew Lorenzo had called, and when a Lorenzo called, even I listened. They were not people you ignored or dismissed. Their influence stretched across industries, politics, land, histories. Too many doors in Manila had hing

When the balcony door finally opened, the room fell quiet again. All eyes turned toward Sofia and Tristan. They didn’t hold hands, didn’t exchange looks, but their calm faces were enough. Whatever storm had raged between them was over.Elias studied them with the sharp eye of an older brother, then gave a single, approving nod. “Well. The roasted pig is waiting,” he said simply, breaking the tension. Laughter rippled through the guests, though everyone kept sneaking glances at Tristan as if he might disappear if they blinked too hard.Tristan cleared his throat and turned to Elias. “Mr. Reyes… may I bring in the Christmas tokens I prepared?”Elias arched a brow, wary but polite. “Christmas token?”“They’re downstairs,” Tristan replied, almost sheepishly. “I’m… not good at this. My family never really made much of it. But I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”Minutes later, his driver reappeared, arms stacked with identical yellow-ochre boxes stamped with the unmistakable gold Louis Vui

Sofia gripped the railing, her chest heaving, her mind spinning. The sheer, terrifying scale of the crisis in the news clip, the looming $1.5 billion liability, made her past accusations about his priorities feel unbearably small.“I’m so stupid,” she whispered, shame clawing at her. “I’m supposed to be a critical thinker, and I let that spectacle convince me I was nothing. I believed all of it.”Tristan stepped closer, his eyes pleading, his voice low but unwavering. “You are not a mistake. You were never collateral. Never a detour. You’re the only thing in my life that hasn’t felt like a transaction.”He moved until he was right in front of her, his words pressing into the fragile space between them. “I said those things because that’s all I knew. Business. Deals. Strategy. But you…” His voice caught, then steadied, softer than she had ever heard it. “You made me forget strategy. You made me reckless. You made me care. And for the first time in my life, I wanted something simply bec

The living room was suffocating with silence. Tristan Jacinto stood inside Elias’s apartment like a storm that had broken through the door, and no one could look away.“Balcony,” Elias said, his tone brooking no argument. His hand gestured firmly toward the glass door. “You two. Talk.”“Kuya—” Sofia’s voice was sharp, panicked.“Now,” Elias cut her off.The command was final. Reluctantly, she rose from her chair, fury boiling under her skin. Tristan followed, his shadow stretching long across the floor.Behind them, the crowd of family and guests pretended to busy themselves with food and drinks, though every eye tracked their steps. Elias noticed immediately. With a sharp tug, he drew the curtains shut. “Respect my sister,” he announced. “She doesn’t need an audience.” His voice carried weight, enough to snuff out the whispers.Outside, the December air hit Sofia like a blade. The balcony lights cast a faint glow over the city skyline, Christmas lights blinking far below. She gripped

Sofia’s stomach didn't just drop; it plummeted into a void. Tristan Jacinto stood framed in the doorway of her brother’s Singapore apartment. He was clearly bothered by the spectacle of the silent, staring crowd. But tonight, his usual fortress-like composure wasn't just strained, it was visibly worn down.He looked like a man who hadn't seen the inside of a proper bed in days. His face, typically clean-shaven to a severe perfection, was shadowed by a day's worth of dark stubble. His impeccably cut hair was a little too long, brushing his collar, and there was a noticeable loss of weight around his severe jawline. His eyes were dark, tired, and deeply troubled. He looked like the one who desperately needed sleep.The room froze, the collective paralysis absolute. Forks hovered mid-air like startled birds, wine glasses paused halfway to lips. The soft, rhythmic blink of the Christmas tree lights, red, green, red, green, mocked the sudden, profound silence that had fallen over the entir

Elias and Lia’s apartment in Ang Mo Kio was the kind of space Sofia’s Tomson Road flat could never compete with. The living room was wide and welcoming, its walls painted in warm neutrals, a decorated Christmas tree standing proudly in the corner. The smell of adobo and lechon kawali drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the sweetness of bibingka baking in the oven.Her roommates settled in as if they had been coming here for years. Lani staked out a corner of the couch with a plate piled high with pancit, while Marco and Pia gravitated toward the stereo to queue up music. Sofia’s nieces darted in and out of the crowd, shrieking with delight every time one of their titas tossed them a candy from the dessert table.Elias had gone all out, inviting not only family but a small circle of Filipino friends and colleagues. Some were couples, others single, and the living room buzzed with the familiar cadence of Tagalog laughter, the kind that filled every corner until it felt like Manila h