Novels by Infunayapm

The silence after the gunfire was worse than the noise itself.It pressed in on Isabella’s ears until all she could hear was her own breathing ragged, uneven, terrified. Glass crunched beneath Alexander’s shoes as he slowly lifted his head, scanning the shattered windows, the dark city beyond.“Stay down,” he said quietly.She didn’t argue. Her body refused to move.Somewhere far below, sirens wailed louder now, echoing between buildings. The sound felt unreal, like something happening in another life.Alexander reached for his phone, fingers moving fast, controlled. “This is Voss,” he said when the call connected. “Penthouse breach. Four shots minimum. West-facing windows. I want a full sweep now.”He ended the call and finally looked at her.Blood streaked down his temple.Her heart stuttered. “You’re hurt.”“It’s nothing.”“You’re bleeding.”“I said it’s nothing.”His voice softened when he saw her hands shaking uncontrollably. He crouched in front of her, placing his hands over he

The city felt different at night.Not louder, not quieter, just sharper. Edges more defined. Shadows deeper. Isabella pulled her coat tighter around herself as she stepped out of the cab near Pier 27, the smell of salt and damp concrete filling her lungs.The driver didn’t wait.His taillights disappeared into the fog, leaving her alone with the river and the sound of water slapping against old wood.This is a mistake.The thought came uninvited and unwelcome. Still, she moved forward.Pier 27 stretched out before her, narrow and dim, lit by a handful of flickering lamps. The fog rolled in thick and low, swallowing the far end of the dock. Somewhere in the distance, a boat horn groaned, long and mournful.Isabella’s phone vibrated in her pocket.Unknown number.You came.Her pulse spiked.Where are you? she typed, then hesitated before sending.No response.She took another step.“Hello?” Her voice sounded too small, swallowed by the mist.Footsteps echoed behind her.She spun around.

City Hall smelled faintly of old paper and polished wood.Isabella stood in a narrow waiting room, staring at her reflection in the mirror bolted to the wall. The woman looking back at her felt unfamiliar. Her hair had been styled by someone she’d met only an hour ago. Her makeup was soft, deliberate, meant to suggest warmth without intimacy. The ivory dress fit perfectly, too perfectly, hugging a body that felt like it belonged to someone else.She touched the fabric at her waist, grounding herself.Six months later, she reminded herself. Just six months.Outside, rain lashed against the tall windows, streaking the glass like tears the city refused to shed. The weather felt appropriate. This wasn’t a celebration. It was a transaction.The door opened quietly.Alexander stepped inside.He wore a dark suit, immaculately tailored, his expression controlled as ever. But when his eyes met hers, something shifted. Just for a second. A flicker of surprise. Or regret.“You’re ready,” he said

Voss Tower rose from the city like a monument to power.Isabella stood across the street, neck craned upward, staring at the glass-and-steel structure that pierced the winter sky. The building seemed less like an office and more like a warning. Cold. Untouchable. Watching.This is real, she told herself.Her fingers curled tighter around her coat as she crossed the street and stepped through the revolving doors.Warmth wrapped around her instantly, along with silence so thick it pressed against her ears. The lobby was vast, all marble floors and muted lighting, the kind of place where voices lowered themselves automatically. A few people moved through the space, polished and purposeful, their shoes whispering against the floor.No one looked at her twice.She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or offended.“Mrs. Voss.”Isabella turned sharply.A woman in a tailored navy suit stood near the reception desk, tablet in hand. Her smile was professional, practiced.“I’m Clara,” the woman sa

The hospital smelled of antiseptic and quiet despair. Isabella Hart stood outside Room 317, her palm pressed against the cold glass, watching the steady rise and fall of her mother’s chest. Tubes and wires framed the frail woman on the bed, machines blinking and beeping like reminders that time was running out. Every sound felt too loud. Every second felt borrowed. “Miss Hart.” Isabella turned. The nurse stood beside her, clipboard tucked to her chest, eyes gentle but tired. She had delivered this look before. Isabella could tell. “The payment deadline was yesterday,” the nurse said softly. “The billing department needs confirmation by noon.” Isabella nodded, even though her throat burned. “I understand,” she whispered. The nurse hesitated, then added, “I’m sorry.” When the nurse walked away, Isabella let her forehead rest against the glass. The numbers replayed in her mind, sharp and merciless. $18,472.63. Her bank balance was sixty-four dollars. Sixty-four. She steppe