Novels by Evie hydes

"Can't you see how happy Mathew and Silius are?" Mile demanded, standing in the middle of Micheal's study with his arms crossed, refusing to back down even as Micheal's expression darkened. "Why are you trying to—""Since when did I give you the permission to question me?"The words landed like a slap, sharp and immediate, and Mile felt whatever courage he'd walked in with start to shrink under the weight of Micheal's stare. "...." He looked away first, the way he always did eventually, no matter how much he told himself this time would be different."I shouldn't have said anything," he muttered.Micheal didn't respond. He simply watched him, arms folded, waiting for Mile to finish digging his own hole."It's all on me," Mile mumbled, half to himself, half hoping Micheal wouldn't hear it and press further. "If anything happens to their—" He caught himself too late, the sentence already half out of his mouth."If anything happens to their relation," Micheal finished for him, voice dece

"...smoothie," Silius finished, grinning up at him. Mathew raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest. "Aren't you so eager to order me around?" "*Smile.* You were the one who said it." Silius tilted his head, all mock-innocence. "Everything I own is yours, remember? I figure that goes both ways." Mathew huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "*Chuckle.* Fine." He straightened, already turning toward the kitchen. "I'll go and make it right now, your highness." "*Chuckle.*" He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Silius's lips before heading off, unhurried, clearly enjoying the errand far more than he was letting on. Silius watched him go, warmth blooming easily in his chest — the kind of easy, uncomplicated happiness he was still getting used to, after everything. "And besides," Mathew called back over his shoulder, pausing at the kitchen doorway, "it's better that there's no one here." "Hm?" "I can have you all to myself," he said, turning back around, voice dropping i

They lay in bed for a long while without speaking, the kind of silence that no longer felt heavy the way it had the night before. Mathew's arm was draped around Silius's waist, holding him close, and Silius had his head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat like it was the only sound left in the world worth paying attention to.It was Mathew who broke the quiet first."I don't wanna stay here."Silius lifted his head to look at him. "What?""This mansion..." Mathew's eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, distant. "I don't wanna stay here anymore.""Is it because of what—""I think Micheal likes you."Silius sat up slightly, startled. "What? No, he doesn't—""Either way, I don't wanna stay here anymore." Mathew's voice was quiet, final, the same flat certainty he'd worn the day before when he'd walked away from that hallway without a single glance back. "I can't stand the thought of him near you." He turned his head, finally looking at Silius directly.

Silius found him in the hallway just outside their room, and this time, Mathew didn't walk away. He crossed the distance between them before he could think better of it, grabbing both of Mathew's hands in his, holding on like letting go might undo whatever fragile thing was starting to mend between them. "I... I know what it looks like," he said, voice shaking, "but I swear I didn't kiss him." Mathew said nothing. He simply watched him, that same unreadable stillness in his eyes that had frightened Silius on the balcony, in the hallway, over the phone in the dead of night. "He caught me off guard," Silius pressed on, needing him to understand, needing the words to land somewhere real this time. "But nothing happened. You came in before he could do anything." "I know." Mathew's hand rose, slow, and brushed against his cheek — a gentleness that felt almost startling after everything. "*Caress his cheeks.*" "Huh?" Silius blinked up at him, caught off guard by the softness where he'

It was late by the time Mathew finally came home.Silius had been sitting on the edge of their bed for hours, waiting, replaying the hallway over and over in his mind until the memory had worn smooth and strange, no longer quite feeling like something that had happened to him. When he heard the door, he was on his feet before he'd even decided to move, crossing the room toward Mathew before he'd fully stepped inside.Mathew was a jealous man. That word had never really been enough to describe him — not fully, not in the way it needed to be. Silius knew, better than anyone, how much Mathew hated it when other men came too close, how even something as innocent as Silius spending an afternoon with his own family could put that dark, simmering look behind his eyes. That was how possessive Mathew could be, on an ordinary day, over nothing at all.Now there was something. Now there was an incident the entire household had seen, whispered about, twisted into something worse than it was. Only

It happened faster than anyone could stop it.Micheal leaned in, and for half a second, from where Mathew stood across the room, it looked exactly like what it wasn't — his twin brother's mouth closing the distance to Silius's lips, easy and deliberate, as if he had every right to.Mathew's fist connected with Micheal's face before it ever got that far.He didn't remember crossing the room. One moment he was standing by the window, and the next his knuckles were burning, Micheal's head snapping sideways from the impact, blood already beading at the corner of his split lip. And Mathew didn't stop there. He never stopped at just one hit when it came to Silius — not when someone else's hands, someone else's mouth, dared to come near what was his.Blow after blow, he struck his brother, years of quiet resentment finally finding somewhere to land.Micheal didn't flinch. He took it standing, spine straight, blood running down his chin, wearing that same infuriating smirk he'd worn his entir

Azhael was still fast asleep on Lance's shoulder when the garden door opened and Elison stepped through, his eyes finding them immediately."He fell asleep?" Elison asked, crossing the space between them without hesitation."*Smiles.* He is such a kid," Lance said quietly, careful not to jostle him.Elison crouched, gathering Azhael carefully into his own arms instead, the movement practiced, gentle, the kind of motion that came from years of doing exactly this. "Come, you look tired too."Lance smiled and let himself be led, watching as Elison pulled a blanket up over Azhael's shoulders once they'd settled him properly."He is very sweet," Lance said, watching the two of them."He is..." Elison's voice softened, something tender and worn moving behind his eyes. "He gives all his love. But I know he wants to be loved too.""*Smiles.* You really love him.""I do. He is very important to me.""I can see," Lance said simply.Elison leaned down and pressed a kiss to Azhael's forehead firs

Azhael sat alone in the car long after the engine had gone quiet, arms wrapped around himself, crying in a way he never allowed anyone to see. There was no one there to witness it — no one to pull him close, press a kiss to his forehead, and tell him everything would be all right. He'd wanted that for as long as he could remember. Since he was a child, that particular kind of love had simply never come, no matter how quietly or how desperately he'd wished for it.He was still lost in it — in the ache of wanting something he couldn't name, in the loneliness that had followed him his entire life — when a soft tap sounded against his window.He wiped his face quickly, composed himself out of habit, and opened the door."Mr. Fl—"Lance didn't let him finish. He simply reached out and pulled him into a hug before Azhael could put his mask fully back into place."It's okay," Lance murmured, patting his head gently, the way someone might comfort a child who'd fallen and scraped their knee. "

Azhael pulled his hand away for the second time that morning, glaring at Heinz with the particular exasperation of a man who had run out of patience roughly ten minutes ago. "What... are you doing?""Loving my soon-to-be husband," Heinz said simply, entirely unrepentant.Azhael didn't dignify that with a response. He straightened his jacket instead and got straight to business. "Where is the file?""Why are you so in a hurry, darling~" Heinz drawled, unhurried, strolling over to his desk and pulling open a drawer to retrieve the requested file."Elison is waiting," Azhael said flatly."Then take it," Heinz said, holding the folder out with an infuriatingly pleasant smile.Azhael reached for it. Heinz didn't let go."Heinz." Azhael's voice took on a warning edge. "I'm not in the mood.""Then I will just sit," Heinz said, dropping unbothered into the nearest chair, folder still clutched loosely in his hand, watching Azhael with the calm patience of someone entirely willing to wait out a

Azhael pulled his hand away for the second time that morning, glaring at Heinz with the particular exasperation of a man who had run out of patience roughly ten minutes ago. "What... are you doing?""Loving my soon-to-be husband," Heinz said simply, entirely unrepentant."....." Azhael didn't dignify that with a response. He straightened his jacket instead and got straight to business. "Where is the file?""Why are you so in a hurry, darling~" Heinz drawled, unhurried, strolling over to his desk and pulling open a drawer to retrieve the requested file."Elison is waiting," Azhael said flatly."Then take it," Heinz said, holding the folder out with an infuriatingly pleasant smile.Azhael reached for it. Heinz didn't let go."Heinz." Azhael's voice took on a warning edge. "I'm not in the mood.""Then I will just sit," Heinz said, dropping unbothered into the nearest chair, folder still clutched loosely in his hand, watching Azhael with the calm patience of someone entirely willing to wa

**Police Station.**Azhael Frost parked his car with his usual brisk efficiency and strode through the front doors like he owned the building — a habit that had, admittedly, gotten him into trouble more than once."Excuse me," he said to the officer nearest the front desk, flashing a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm looking for Officer Heinz.""[Police]," the officer replied, straightening slightly. "Sir is busy at the moment. You can tell us — we'll forward your message."Azhael waved a dismissive hand. "It's okay. I'll come la—""Brothers-in-law," a new voice cut in, bright with delight, "what are you doing here?"Azhael turned to find Mateo Stellar — Heinz's personal assistant and, apparently, self-appointed comic relief — grinning at him from across the room."Oh, Mateo," Azhael said, forcing patience into his voice. "I was looking for Heinz, but seems like he is bus—""Who said?" Mateo interrupted, already turning toward the nearest officer with an expression o

"I don't let him be close to you just so you don't get uncomfortable," Elison said, leaning back in his chair with the easy authority of a man who never had to raise his voice to be obeyed, "but I know my brother very well."Azhael said nothing, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance, the same guarded stillness he always wore whenever Heinz's name came anywhere near this conversation."He never thinks, talks, wants anyone else but you," Elison went on. "I never saw him like this to anyone else but you." His voice softened. "You know how much a cold person he can be. But he has never been like this to you since we were children.""Just a small scratch you get…" Elison pressed on, undeterred by the silence, "and he comes running to me, and asks — not asks, but *begs* me to take care of you." He leaned forward slightly. "What happened has happened already. We can't change the past, but we can change the future. Don't let your past be the reason for the death of your be

The ring still caught the light in a way that surprised Alexander. Five years later, and he still noticed it—still paused sometimes, mid-thought, when it flashed against glass or polished stone. Not because it felt new, but because it felt real. Chosen. Earned. He adjusted his cufflinks in the mirror of the penthouse bathroom, the city stretching behind him in soft twilight. The penthouse no longer felt like a fortress or a reward. It felt lived in. Books stacked where they didn’t belong. A throw blanket Elias insisted on draping over every chair. Framed photographs that weren’t curated, just… kept. “Alex,” Elias called from the bedroom. “If you’re overthinking your tie again, we’re going to be late.” Alexander smiled to himself. Some things really didn’t change. He stepped into the bedroom, where Elias stood by the window, already dressed for the gala. Five years had sharpened him, not hardened—confidence settling into his posture the way comfort does when it’s finally all

The club hadn’t changed.The lights were still low, warm gold bleeding into shadow. Music thrummed beneath the floor, familiar and steady, vibrating through bone and memory. The mirrors still lined the walls—sleek, deliberate, once designed to obscure and divide.What had changed was how they walked in.Alexander entered first, posture calm, shoulders relaxed, no longer braced for impact. Elias followed at his side, close enough that their arms brushed with every step. There was no attempt to separate, no instinctive pause before crossing the threshold. They didn’t scan the room for danger or recognition.They were seen immediately.A few heads turned. Conversations stuttered, then resumed. Recognition flickered—surprise, curiosity, something like respect. Not everyone smiled. Not everyone approved.Alexander didn’t flinch.Elias felt the moment settle into his chest, not as fear but as weight—real, solid, survivable. He reached for Alexander’s hand openly this time, fingers threading

The apartment smelled like rosemary and warm bread—comforting, familiar, earned.Elias stood at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, fingers dusted with flour as he shaped dough with slow, practiced movements. Outside the tall windows, the city hummed softly, dusk settling in like a held breath. One year ago, this hour would have carried a different weight. Panic. Anticipation. Fear of headlines refreshing every few seconds.Now, it carried something steadier.Behind him, Alexander adjusted the table settings for the third time, aligning the cutlery with unnecessary precision. Elias smiled to himself without turning around.“You’re going to wear a groove into the table if you keep nudging that fork,” Elias said gently.Alexander paused, then exhaled. “I know. I just—” He stopped himself, shook his head, and let his hands fall to his sides. “Old habits.”Elias turned then, leaning back against the counter. He studied Alexander openly, the way he did now without hesitation. The sharp

The club is quiet in the morning.Not empty—never empty, but hushed in a way Alexander rarely allowed himself to notice before. The lights are dimmed low, the velvet curtains drawn back just enough to let thin bars of daylight slip across the polished floor. It smells faintly of citrus cleaner and last night’s incense, a mingling of care and history.Alexander stands at the edge of the main floor, hands in his pockets, looking at the space that once felt like both sanctuary and prison.This place was born out of survival.He knows that now, in a way he didn’t before.Elias joins him, leaning lightly against his side. No performance, no role to play, just presence. They’ve learned how to stand together without filling the silence with tension.“Do you ever think about what it could have been?” Elias asks softly.“All the time,” Alexander admits. “And what it still can be.”They walk slowly through the club, passing rooms that once existed solely for secrecy. Each door feels different n

Alexander has always known how to endure silence.It’s a skill learned early—through boardrooms and dining rooms, through a father whose affection came packaged as expectation and approval as performance. Silence, for him, was never empty. It was judgment withheld. Love conditional.Still, this silence feels different.It has been weeks since the family meeting. Weeks since the public fallout, the interviews, the carefully measured chaos. Weeks since his father last spoke to him.No calls. No messages. Not even anger.Just absence.Alexander sits alone in the study of the penthouse, late evening shadows stretching across the floor. The city glows beyond the windows, indifferent and alive. He has a legal pad in front of him, pages already half-filled with writing that will never be mailed.The letter started as an exercise his therapist suggested. Write what you need to say, not what you expect to hear back.He hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.He reads the last line he wrote, jaw

Elias almost doesn’t answer the call.The phone lights up on the kitchen counter while he’s rinsing a mug, sunlight spilling across the floor in lazy afternoon stripes. The name on the screen tightens something deep in his chest—instinctive, reflexive.Mom.For a moment, he just stares at it, heart ticking too fast. He hasn’t spoken to her since the night everything broke open, since the shouting and the silence that followed. Since being told without words that love came with conditions she didn’t know how to renegotiate.Alexander watches him from the doorway, saying nothing. Just present.Elias exhales and answers.“Hi,” he says.There’s a pause on the other end. Long enough that he wonders if she’ll hang up.“Hi,” his mother says finally. Her voice sounds… different. Not sharp. Not defensive. Tired. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to meet me. Just… talk. No pressure.”Elias closes his eyes.“When?” he asks.The café she chooses is quiet, tucked between a bookstore and a flori