Novels by Evie hydes

Rile Kipper had known Silius long enough to recognize the particular quality of silence that meant something was eating at him — the kind that came with a sigh he thought he was hiding and a phone he kept checking even when no one had texted."So," Rile said, dropping onto the seat across from him, chin propped on one hand, "do you like him or not?"Silius didn't answer right away. He picked at the hem of his sleeve instead, stalling in the way he always did when a question cut closer than he was ready for. "I…. I don't know," he admitted finally."I mean he's great and all," he continued, the words coming slow, careful, like he was testing each one before letting it out into the open. "And I'm sure he'll never do anything to hurt me, but…." He exhaled, frustration creeping into his voice. "He gets jealous easily."He shook his head, the memory of it clearly still sitting sour in his chest. "And his controlling behaviour… ughh…. I hate that."Rile hummed, unbothered, waving a hand lik

The knock echoed too loud in the quiet hallway, sharper than Silius had intended, his knuckles rapping against the door before his nerve could fail him. *Knock knock.*For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the door opened, and there was Mathew — arms loose at his sides, expression unreadable, dark hair falling messily over eyes that refused to soften just because Silius was standing there."H… hi," Silius managed, the greeting coming out smaller than he meant it to.Mathew's hand tightened on the door, already beginning to swing it shut again, no words offered, no room left for negotiation."N— no, Mathew, please listen to me," Silius blurted, catching the edge of the door before it could close between them.But Mathew didn't argue. He didn't even acknowledge the plea. Without saying a word, he turned, walked back into the room, crossed to his bed, and lay down — completely ignoring Silius's presence, as though the door swinging open again hadn't happened at all, as thoug

The first aid kit had long since been packed away, the cuts cleaned, the silence between them settled into something almost comfortable. But comfortable, for Silius, never lasted long. Not when there was something sitting on his chest that he couldn't quite swallow back down.He sighed, the sound heavier than he meant it to be. "Mathew."Mathew glanced up from where he sat, one brow lifting at the tone alone. "What?""Can I talk to you seriously for a minute?"There was a pause — the kind that told Silius everything before Mathew even opened his mouth. A long, wary silence, followed by three small dots that seemed to stretch on forever."I don't like where this is going," Mathew finally said.Silius pressed on anyway, because someone had to. "Mathew….. you can't keep on doing this, okay?""I can't hear you," Mathew said flatly, not even bothering to make the deflection convincing.Silius exhaled through his nose, arms crossing over his chest as he searched for the right words — as if

The evening had gone quiet by the time Silius finally let himself collapse onto the bed. His limbs felt like lead, weighted down by a day that had asked far too much of him, and for once he wanted nothing more than a few uninterrupted minutes of peace. He let his eyes fall shut, savoring the stillness, the softness of the mattress beneath him, the way the world seemed to fade at the edges when he stopped fighting it.But peace, as always, was a luxury he wasn't allowed to keep.The door creaked open. He didn't need to look to know who it was. Only one person in this house had the habit of announcing himself with that particular groan of old hinges, always at the worst possible moment.Groaning inwardly, Silius pushed himself upright, already prepared to snap at whoever had dared disturb him. But the irritation didn't survive the second he actually looked up.Mathew stood by the bed, disheveled and silent. A deep cut split his bottom lip, swollen and raw, as though someone had struck h

Mathew and Silius sat quietly in the back of the cab, heading home. Silius leaned his head against the window, the cool glass pressing against his cheek as he stared blankly at the passing streets, watching the city blur into smears of light and shadow. If he were like any other high schooler, he might have been out somewhere laughing with friends, making memories worth keeping—the kind of small, ordinary moments that other people took for granted. But he wasn't like any other high schooler. Instead, here he was, on his way home early again, because Mathew had caused yet another scene. Just like always.The silence in the cab stretched thin, brittle, the kind that always seemed to precede something worse. Mathew's eyes had been fixed on him for the better part of the ride, and Silius could feel the weight of that stare even without looking, prickling against his skin like static."What the fuck is wrong with that look on your face?" Mathew finally demanded, his voice cutting sharp thr

Silius did everything he could to pull Mathew away from Cyder, but Mathew was relentless. Blow after blow landed without hesitation, his fists moving with a mechanical, merciless rhythm, his fury boiling over simply because Cyder had dared to touch and speak to Silius. It should have shocked him more than it did. But this wasn't new. Everyone knew Silius belonged to Mathew. No one dared to cross that unspoken line, and everyone who had ever tested it had learned, one way or another, exactly why.He had already made an example out of someone before—a boy who had merely tried to talk to Silius, nothing more than a passing hello in a hallway. Mathew had beaten him so badly that he'd nearly killed him. That memory still haunted Silius, resurfacing at moments like this with a vividness that made his stomach twist. He had once thought he'd grown used to Mathew's obsessive grip, told himself that numbness was the same thing as peace. But the truth was, it still suffocated him. He couldn't ta

Morning arrived far too early and far too loudly."Get up now, you have work," Van's voice cut through the fog of sleep, accompanied by the distinct, irritating sensation of someone shaking his shoulder with absolutely no mercy.Lance groaned, refusing to surface, still tangled somewhere between sleep and the memory of cold eyes and a firm grip on his arm. "*Still lost.*""BITCH, COME BACK TO REALITY. YOU HAVE WORK." Van's volume climbed several decibels, apparently done with gentle approaches."Oh my fucking ears," Lance groaned, finally cracking one eye open, glaring at his friend with the particular resentment reserved only for mornings after too much alcohol."Get out now," Van said, unmoved by the glare, already yanking the blanket off him entirely."Are you throwing me away?" Lance pouted, making absolutely no effort to move despite having no covers left to hide under."Mr. Lance," Van said, deadly patient, "did you forget you have a job to do?"That, finally, seemed to land. La

"I will be back," Lance announced again, the words slurring softly at the edges, more promise to himself than to anyone listening."Let me co—" Van started, already half out of his seat."Stay here. I will be back," Lance said, waving him off with the loose, unbothered confidence of a man who had no idea how unsteady his own feet had become. He was gone before Van could argue, swallowed into the shifting crowd of the club.The lights blurred into long streaks of color the further he walked. The bass no longer felt like music so much as a second pulse layered over his own, and somewhere between one step and the next, Lance realized he had absolutely no idea where he was going."...uh... I'm lost," he murmured to himself, thoughts moving thick and slow, tangled up in gin and noise."Wher—" He never finished the word.His foot caught on nothing at all — the simple, humiliating betrayal of balance too many drinks had promised him and he pitched forward, already bracing for the impact of

The V.I.P. section had gone quiet, the noise of the club reduced to a distant hum beyond the velvet curtain. Azhael sat rigid on the leather booth, drink forgotten in his hand, painfully aware of the man beside him."Elison will kill you," Azhael said, low and warning, the words meant as a shield.Heinz only smiled, unbothered, leaning in close enough that his voice dropped to something intimate. "Stop thinking about other men in front of your husband.""H...ein...z," Azhael breathed, the name catching in his throat."So beautiful," Heinz murmured, staring into his eyes like he'd found something he had no intention of looking away from.Azhael sat frozen, too stunned to speak. There was something in that gaze — warm, unguarded, dangerously sincere that unraveled the sharp words he usually kept ready. He hated how his silence gave Heinz the space to lean closer still."Even you smell so good," Heinz said, dipping his head toward the curve of Azhael's neck.That broke the spell. "Sto...

The club pulsed with a heartbeat of its own — bass thick enough to feel in the ribs, light bleeding blue and violet across a hundred restless faces. It was the kind of night the city swallowed whole, where secrets and sin sat at the same table and nobody asked questions.Lance Ivory hadn't meant to be the center of attention. He rarely did. But it happened anyway, the way it always did — a rose tucked behind his ear, dark hair falling into eyes that looked bored with the whole world, and a body draped carelessly over a velvet booth like he owned the room. Beside him, Van Hert laughed at something Lance had said, the two of them tangled up in that easy, reckless kind of fun that only came after the third drink.That was when the stranger approached."Hey, beauty~" the man crooned, sliding into the space beside their table like he'd been invited.Lance's expression didn't so much shift as *sag*, a flat, exhausted little grimace crossing his face before he could stop it. He didn't even b

The abandoned factory groaned under its own weight, rusted staircases zigzagging up through the dark like the skeleton of something long dead. Heinz Floris stepped carefully over the debris scattered across the floor, phone pressed to his ear, voice clipped and businesslike even here, in the middle of nowhere."We have arri—" he started, before the call cut him off mid-sentence, forcing him to finish the conversation with a series of short, irritated replies instead.Beside him, Mateo Stellar took one look at what waited for them deeper in the building and exhaled slowly. "My goodness..."There, in the center of the ruined space, a man sat slumped in an old electric chair, wires coiled around his limbs and torso like something out of a nightmare, his body utterly still.Mateo crouched beside him, checking for any sign of life, though the answer was already obvious before he even finished. "He's dead," he confirmed grimly.Heinz pulled on a pair of gloves without being asked, his earli

The office was, as always, aggressively elegant—dark wood, towering bookshelves, chandeliers that dripped candlelight across leather furniture nobody ever seemed to actually sit in. Elison Floris stood near the window with his phone in hand, unbothered by the grandeur around him, mid-sneeze."Achuu~""Are you sure you didn't catch a cold?" Azhael asked, not even glancing up from his own drink.Elison waved a dismissive hand, nodding instead toward the matter at hand. "Did you find anything about him?"Azhael sighed, long and put-upon. "No. You told us nothing except that he smells nice.""He really doe—"The door burst open before Elison could finish defending his single, deeply unhelpful data point."ELISON!" The voice cut through the room like a blade, loud enough to rattle the chandelier overhead."*Close his ears* STOP SCREAMING," Elison snapped, clamping his hands over Azhael's ears as though that would somehow solve the noise problem at its source.Mateo Stellar—Heinz's perpetua

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