Novels by His Royal Pen

Liam.The moment the door closed behind Evelyn, the penthouse felt far too large and far too quiet. I stood in the center of the living room, debating on if I should go after her or not.I didn't like this. I didn't like her out there alone in a city that thrived on chaos.Pulling out my phone, I fired off a quick text to the bodyguard I had hired from the private security firm the moment we touched down in Ibiza. I had told him to stay inconspicuous—Evelyn had enough trauma with men controlling her movement. But tonight, my gut was screaming.“Follow her discreetly. If she so much as trips, you move in,” I messaged.Then I put the phone in my pocket and walked toward the kitchen. I pulled a beer from the fridge, the glass condensation biting into my skin. I wasn't much of a beer drinker—usually, it was scotch or a vintage Bordeaux—but I needed something cold and low-alcohol to take the edge off my agitation without dulling my senses.I took a long swig, the bitterness coating my to

Evelyn.Dinner was lit, literally.Liam had driven us in a limousine right after my chilling eye contact with Rachel. I sat in the plush leather seat, my mind a mess of dark thoughts as I watched Liam’s sharp profile in the dim light. When we finally arrived at our destination, he didn't take me to a crowded restaurant. Instead, he led me to a private rooftop.The air was cool, carrying the scent of the Mediterranean sea. A soft violin was playing somewhere in the background, the melody weaving through the warm Ibiza night. The setting was perfect; candles were placed strategically around a small table, their flickering flames casting long, dancing shadows. And there was overhead lights too, illuminating the place.As I sat down, Liam handed me a single red rose. I took it, smelling the petals and giving him a small, involuntary smile.“This is perfect, Liam. Thank you.”“Not as perfect as the woman I’m looking at,” he murmured, his intense eyes locking onto mine. I looked away, r

Evelyn.“We need to talk,” Rachel’s voice echoed in my head as we rode the elevator down.I stared at the digital floor numbers ticking downward, my reflection in the mirrored walls looking like a ghost of the woman who had been dancing in green silk only an hour ago. Rachel stood beside me with an unreadable expression.She had told me she was the Assistant Manager of the hotel. It explained why she was here, but it didn't explain why she was at the entrance of the club earlier.The ride was silent aside from the slight whir of the elevator. I almost didn't want to hear what she had to say. Isabella’s tearful interview was still playing on a loop in my brain, a reminder that I was being branded as a homewrecker. But I had so many questions, and after the way Liam had frozen at the club when he saw her, I knew I wouldn’t get the truth from him.The elevator doors dinned and opened to the ground floor. She led me through a restricted corridor to a heavy oak door.Stepping into her of

Evelyn.The first thing I did when I stepped into the penthouse suite was to unpack. After that, I reached for my phone. I knew I shouldn't. I knew I was just going to torture myself, checking the posts about me and the comments. But I couldn't help it. I needed to see how much more of my soul the world had devoured while I was sleeping on a private jet.I held my breath and typed my name into the search bar, my heart hammering against my ribs.I waited for the "Blackthorn Whore" headlines to pop up. But as the page loaded, my eyes widened. There was nothing.The blogs were gone. The Twitter threads that had thousands of retweets were dead links. I refreshed the page, my fingers trembling. I did it again. And again.The only thing that remained was a single, clinical report about my divorce case from a reputable news outlet. It was unbiased and factual. And the comment section was disabled.I sat back on the edge of the plush bed, my mind reeling. I had seen this magic trick before.

Liam.I stepped out of Evelyn’s room and shut the door with a click. My hands were still vibrating from the urge to punch through a wall.The penthouse was quiet, but my head was a war zone, different thoughts just flipping through. As I walked into the living room, staring out at the New York skyline, I pulled my phone from my pocket. It was time to remind the world why you don’t touch what belongs to Liam Kingsley.I dialed my Head of PR, Greg and he picked up on the second ring.“Mr Kingsley?” He sounded breathless. “We’re already monitoring the threads.”“Monitoring?” I asked, my voice dry and cold. “The official outlets didn’t say a word about her being a whore, but the blogs are gossiping about it. I want every post, every tweet, and every slanderous comment regarding Evelyn Rowe scrubbed. Now.”“Sir, some of those sites are independent—”“I don't pay you to give me excuses, Greg. I pay you to control the narrative. Buy the blogs. And if you can’t, threaten them with a lawsuit

Evelyn.The door to the Obsidian clicked shut behind me, and for a second, I just stood there in the dark, leaning my head against the cool wood of the door as I closed my eyes. My heart was beating frantically against my ribs. And all I could see was the look of disappointment on Liam’s face when I told him I couldn’t do dinner.Honestly, I felt like a total bitch.But what was I supposed to do? I had just walked out of a courtroom where a judge officially ended my marriage to a monster. My body still felt like it was recovering from the miscarriage, and my mind was a jagged mess of trauma and what-ifs. I actually wanted Liam. God, I wanted him so much it made my teeth ache. Every time he looked at me, I felt a magnetic pull that made me want to forget every boundary I’d ever set.But I couldn’t just jump from Victor Blackthorn to Liam Kingsley. It was the definition of going from the frying pan and straight into the fire. And let’s not gouge that fact that I wanted Dominic too.