Novels by Faah

I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of the study, staring at nothing. The city outside was alive,cars crawling like insects, lights flickering on as dusk bled into night, but it all looked flat, colorless, like a photograph left too long in the sun.Two days. Two days since her voice last came through the phone, small and tired and happy. Two days since she said “I just landed” like it was a promise she’d keep.Where are you, my love?The question lived in my throat, in my chest, in the space behind my eyes. I pictured her in her dress, hair loose, laughing at something stupid I said. I pictured her eating..had she eaten? Was someone making sure she ate? Was she cold? Scared? Hurt?My fingers curled into fists at my sides. The knuckles were already bruised from the wall I’d put them through yesterday. I hadn’t felt it then. I still didn’t.A soft knock broke the trance. Sam, one of my assistants, stepped inside, face pale. “Sir,” he started, voice thin. “We… we couldn’t find her.

My eyelids felt glued together with sleep and salt. When they finally parted, the world swam into focus in slow, nauseating waves.The ceiling above me was too high, vaulted wood beams stained dark, a crystal chandelier hanging like a frozen waterfall. The sheets beneath me were crisp, cool, scented faintly with lavender detergent and something richer, more expensive. I blinked hard. My body felt heavy, drugged, like my limbs belonged to someone else.Where am I?I turned my head. The room was enormous. Pale gray walls, floor-to-ceiling windows draped in sheer white curtains that billowed gently even though the air was still. A four-poster bed, silk canopy, antique dresser, a velvet chaise by the fireplace. Everything screamed money. Old money.I sat up too fast. The room tilted. My wrists ached, red marks circled them like bracelets. No zip-ties now. Just skin that remembered.I looked down. Pajamas. Soft cream silk, long-sleeved, button-up. I wasn't wearing this, I was in my silver

I slammed my fist onto the desk, the wood cracking under my grip. The CCTV footage burned in my mind, frame by frame, the fire, the smoke, the chaos… and him. Lucas. My chest tightened, rage and disbelief warring in every pulse.How could he? How could he be behind this? The man I, even Isabelle, had once considered a friend… someone she’d trusted, someone who had stood by her through everything.The office was too quiet. My phone was in my hand, the screen lighting up with every attempt, every call to Isabelle. Five times. Ten times. Nothing. Not a ring, not a voicemail, not even a buzz. Just… unavailable. My chest tightened.“I can’t believe he could do something like this,” Juan muttered, pacing behind me. “He’s her best friend. How could he..”I didn’t answer. My eyes were glued to the screen, every second stretching like a lifetime. My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms.Carlos stood beside the desk, arms crossed, lips tight. “I wonder what she’ll think when sh

I stood in the doorway of the bathroom, gun heavy in my hand, watching her tremble under the table like a frightened animal. The two men behind me stayed silent, waiting for my order. The suite smelled like expensive perfume and fear, her fear. It made my chest tighten in a way that felt almost sweet. Isabelle’s eyes were wide, panic written all over her face. Her silver dress was rumpled, hair messy from the event, but she still looked like a goddamn queen. My queen. Even now, cornered, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.She crawled out slowly, voice shaking. “Lucas… why are you here? What are you doing? Put the gun down please.”I didn’t move. I just watched her stand up, hands raised like I was some stranger. The sight of her afraid of me twisted something ugly and warm in my gut.“I’m here for you,” I said simply, almost amused. “What else would I be doing here?”Her breath hitched. “For me… with a gun? Are you crazy? Lucas, this isn’t you. Put it away, talk to me

The afternoon light in the Paris hotel suite was soft and flattering, pouring through the tall windows like liquid gold. I sat perfectly still in the makeup chair, heart fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. The campaign event for Luxe Éclat was in forty-five minutes, and I was about to step onto the stage as the face of Banderas Étoile for the first time.The French makeup artist, a tall man named Pierre with a gentle touch and a sharp eye, was putting the final touches on my face. He stepped back, admiring his work.“You have the perfect nose shape,” he said with a warm smile. “It frames everything so beautifully.”I smiled back, a little shy. “Thank you.”“And done.” He set down the brush with a flourish.I turned to the mirror and caught my breath.The makeup was flawless, soft smoky eyes that made my gaze look deeper, a subtle glow on my cheeks, and lips painted a rich rose that felt both elegant and bold. My red hair was styled in loose waves cascading over one shoul

The house was still dark at 6:47 a.m. I stood in the foyer, arms crossed, watching Alexander and the team move like shadows through the pre-dawn light. Four men at the front gate, two at the side entrance, one already in the black SUV idling outside.Radios clipped low, earpieces in, eyes scanning every angle of the driveway.Alexander approached first, voice low and steady.“Perimeter locked, sir. Two cars flanking hers the whole way, one lead. Airport’s cleared, VIP escort from curb to gate. Eyes on every exit.”I nodded once, “No one gets near her. Not a photographer, not a fan, not some asshole asking for directions. If anyone even breathes in her direction too long, you pull her the fuck out. No hesitation.”Alexander didn’t blink. “Understood.”I looked at him hard. “She’s my everything. If something happens to her, it happens to me. If she so much as twists an ankle because someone blinked, I’ll hold every single one of you responsible. Personally.”“Yes sir.” He said.“Good.”