Novels by Lee_Star

William’s POV When I walked back into the penthouse, the silence greeted me. It wasn’t the empty kind of quiet I usually experienced. No, this felt different,more like a space that was actually lived in. Soft lights illuminated the hallway, and a faint citrus scent hung in the air; it was Jane’s soap. One of the throw pillows on the couch was out of place, just slightly shifted. Little things. Seemingly insignificant. Yet, I noticed every one of them. I loosened my tie and placed my phone on the counter, mentally gearing up for another long night of reports and contracts. And then I saw it. Sitting on the dining table was an envelope cream-colored, heavy stock, with gold-embossed lettering. Not a piece of mail. Not internal paperwork. An invitation. My steps slowed unexpectedly. I found myself stopping next to the table and picking it up. Executive Networking Dinner Hosted by Lawrence Tomorrow Evening — Private Event** My jaw clenched tightly. Law

Jane's POV There’s something oddly transformative about success. It doesn’t announce itself with a bang; instead, it subtly shifts the atmosphere. People now flashed quicker smiles my way. They unconsciously stepped aside in the hallway, and assistants lingered a beat longer while passing me documents. Designers who had barely noticed me just a couple of weeks ago now greeted me with a warmth, calling me “Jane" as if we were old friends. It was both unsettling and a bit thrilling. At that moment, I stood in the creative lounge, holding a fabric swatch up to a mannequin as Mira and two senior designers debated the perfect sleeve length. “That ruins the line,” Mira argued. “It makes it modern,” one designer countered. Clearing my throat, I chimed in gently, “What if we kept the structure and just relaxed the cuff a bit?” All three designers turned to look at me, and for a split second, panic surged within me. But then I saw Mira's expression brighten. “... That mi

Jane's POV The following morning, the office felt… off. Not in the usual sense of unfamiliarity that accompanies a new place. Instead, it was as if a space I had always known suddenly regarded me through a different lens. I sensed it right away as I walked into the lobby. The security guard greeted me with an actual smile. The receptionist, who typically barely acknowledged me, called me by name. And two women loitering by the elevators fell silent when they spotted me, hastily pretending they weren’t chatting at all. I slowed my pace, acutely aware of the shift. It wasn’t a cold reception, nor was it truly warm. It was… a heightened awareness. By the time I reached the creative floor, that feeling shadowed me, persistent like a following spirit. People nodded as I passed. Someone called out, “Good morning, Jane,” with a tone that communicated curiosity instead of apathy. Jayden was waiting at my desk, sporting a cheerful grin. “You’re famo

Jane's POV I didn’t get any sleep. It wasn’t because of nightmares from the press or worries about Daniel weirdly or worries about William, nor was it the tension from Regina’s interruption the night before. The reason I lay awake was a message from Mira that arrived at 1:14 a.m.: “Bring your navy concept. Tomorrow. Internal showcase.” No explanation. No emojis. No comforting words. Just that simple, direct message. So by morning, I felt like a person who had lost a battle with her ceiling throughout the night. The penthouse was still when I quietly slipped out of the bedroom. William had already left; he’d mentioned an early board meeting. Strangely, that made my chest feel both lighter and heavier at once. I made a cup of coffee that I barely tasted, staring at my sketch folder as if it might explode at any moment. Internal showcase. That wasn’t just training or practice; it meant being exposed. By the time I reached the creative department, my hands

Jane's POV That night, the penthouse felt unusually quiet. It wasn’t a soothing silence; it was oppressive, as if the very walls were holding their breath. Lying on my bed, I stared at the ceiling, replaying that moment over and over again in my mind. The office, the lights, the almost tender brush of his hand against my face, and the way his expression shifted when Regina entered the room. And then came the distance, the way his voice turned so cold and controlled. “It won’t happen again.” My chest tightened as I turned onto my side, burying my face in the pillow. Why did it hurt so much? Nothing had actually happened, and that was the issue. We’d almost crossed a line, and now there was this invisible barrier between us. The next morning felt even more daunting. As I entered the kitchen, I saw William already there, dressed in a crisp white shirt with his hair neatly styled. He had a coffee in hand, fully in CEO mode, and he hardly glanced my way. “Good morning,” I sa

William’s POV The office felt unnaturally quiet. Not the soothing silence you'd hope for, but rather the kind that pressed against your ears, amplifying every stray thought. City lights streamed through the glass walls of my office, casting shimmering reflections on the polished floor. It was past midnight, yet I hadn’t budged from my desk in over an hour. I wasn’t actually working. The realization frustrated me more than it should have. The files before me remained untouched, my laptop screen had dimmed twice due to inactivity, and the quarterly reports I had intended to go over tonight lay unopened. Instead, my mind kept drifting back to a single moment. Jane. She had been standing too close, her breath hitching slightly, her wide, uncertain eyes meeting mine with a vulnerability that felt disarmingly honest. The space between us had disappeared as if it never existed, and I had almost.... I clenched my jaw, leaning back in my chair and running a hand down my face in f

Elara’s POV The knock at my door came just after dawn. It wasn’t a soft rapping like a maid might provide, nor was it the kind of polite knock that allows someone to prepare themselves. No, it was a strong, confident bang that resonated through my room like a judgment. Sitting upright in bed, my heart pounded in my chest. “Come in,” I managed to say. The door swung open, and Lady Morgana entered, but she wasn’t alone. Beside her stood a man tall and slender, adorned in deep blue robes that signified his rank within the royal medical order. The silver insignia on his collar proclaimed him a healer appointed by the court, not the sort of independent doctor I might have favored. Morgana smiled at me. “I took the liberty of bringing someone to assist you,” she said in a sweet tone. “You seemed rather unwell yesterday.” A chill ran down my spine. “I didn’t ask for a healer,” I stated cautiously. “True,” she replied, stepping uninvited into my space. “But the palace did.

Elara’s POV I didn’t step outside my chambers for the entire morning. Celene ensured that was the case. Two guards were positioned discreetly outside my door not too close to be noticeable, but just near enough that I felt their presence pressing against my skin. Although the windows were open and the air was filled with the fragrance of roses from the eastern gardens, my room felt stifling. I felt watched. Confined. A maid brought me some broth and dry bread, but I just stared at the meal until it grew cold. “Please eat,” she urged gently, lingering a little too long. “I will,” I replied, though I didn’t touch it. She didn’t leave. This time, my stomach twisted not from hunger, but from the weight of her expectations. I finally lifted the spoon, forcing myself to take a few careful bites while she observed me with far too much interest. When she finally left, I pushed the tray away and sank back against the pillows, my heart racing. This is where it begin

Elara's POV I woke up before the sun had fully risen, my stomach churning violently. For a moment, I stayed still, staring at the bed’s canopy, wishing for it to pass,hoping it was just another result of sleepless nights and constant tension. The palace had a knack for wearing you down while denying you any chance to recuperate. But then, the nausea hit me again, sharp and sudden. I barely made it to the washbasin before I was retching. At first, there was nothing but a dry heave that left my throat burning and my hands trembling against the cool porcelain. My reflection in the mirror was a ghost: pale skin, bright eyes, lips devoid of color. This is just stress, I reminded myself fiercely. It has to be. Lately, the court felt suffocating. Celene’s watchful gaze, Morgana’s penetrating stares, and Damon’s calculated distance, more painful than any closeness—made anyone feel unwell under such pressure. I rinsed my mouth, splashed some water on my face, and stood up a little

Elara’s POV Celene was keenly observing me as I ate. Not in a blatant manner, nor was it rude. But I could feel it, her unwavering focus on my hands as I lifted the spoon to my mouth and the way her gaze lingered on my face while I swallowed. The breakfast hall was filled with a quiet calm, sunlight streaming through the tall windows and enveloping everything in a golden glow that seemed almost to mock me. I forced myself to take my time with each mouthful. As I usually would. With care. Every bite felt like I was putting on a show. “You barely ate yesterday,” Celene finally remarked, meticulously folding her napkin like a surgeon. “And today, you look unwell.” “I didn’t sleep well,” I responded, keeping my tone steady. She tilted her head, studying me. “You’ve never been one to be frail.” That word again. I held her gaze firmly. “Stress impacts people differently.” “Yes,” she replied gently. “That’s true.” Across the room, Damon stood in conversation with

Elara’s POV The wave of nausea hit me out of nowhere. One second, I was in the western corridor, listening to two women argue quietly about fabric deliveries, and the next, my stomach clenched violently, as if something inside me had tightened into a fist. I froze. Not now. Not here. Heat surged in my throat. I pressed my hand against my mouth and pivoted sharply, trying to move quickly without attracting attention. The corridor felt interminable, the walls seemed too close, and the air was suffocating. Somehow, I just managed to reach the alcove before it overwhelmed me. Bending forward, I clutched the stone ledge as bile surged up. My body convulsed, painfully unyielding. I gagged, fighting to keep quiet as my eyes filled with tears. This had been happening more frequently. Mornings. Late afternoons. Sometimes, it was even triggered by the smell of food. I had told myself it was all the stress. The palace life. Celene. Damon. The unending feeling of being scrut

Elara’s POV The palace had recognized me. That was the first thing I sensed upon waking that morning. It was neither a shout nor an announcement—just an unspoken acknowledgment. Servants halted briefly as I walked by. Conversations dropped to hushed tones. Eyes lingered a half-second too long before darting away. Even the walls seemed to shift, as if the very hallways had started to lean in, eavesdropping on my presence. Once, not so long ago, I had called this place home before the lessons of freedom showed me that silence can be a choice rather than a burden. Back then, the palace had overlooked my existence entirely. Now, it was watching me. I dressed with care, opting for a pale blue gown with long sleeves and a high collar modest, unremarkable, and hard to fault. My reflection met me in the mirror, poised but weary. Dark circles under my eyes persisted, a testament to sleep that seemed forever elusive. As I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, I murmured,