Novels by Miss_eze

Marcel’s PovHer eyes don’t leave mine. “Say it again,” she whispers, her voice unsteady.“Don’t test me, Leyla," I swallow the irritation rising in my chest. She knows exactly what she's doing, and I hate how much it's working.A slow smile pulls at her lips, but it doesn’t reach her cold, searching eyes which are looking for a flicker of devotion in me, I guess. “Then make me.”Something snaps in me as I rush towards her, grabbing her waist. She shoves me off as I'm about to kiss her, in an assertive kind of way to. Plays with the hem of her top, while hesitating for a bit as if debating weather to do this or not. Then, she pulls it off slowly and drops it next to the couch. She's wearing a deep purple lace bra that makes her skin look like milk. Before I can even process the sight, she reaches back, unhooks the lace and lets it fall beside her discarded shirt. My breathe hitches. Dauuummmm!!Her breasts are not as large as Alora’s but definitely something. Her nipples which are a

Leyla’s PovThe restaurant door swings shut behind me, the chime of the bell sounding like it's tolling for her. Alora thinks she’s actually done something. She thinks that Pinterest-aesthetic white linen dress and that massive, overcompensated rock on her finger make her the main character.Delusional. She’s just a shiny new toy in a gilded cage, and she’s in for a literal nightmare.My phone buzzes on the table, my Uber's here. I stomp off, the pavement shaking under my heels like it understands I’m not in the mood for grace. This outfit? Big mistake. I need to be in leather. Where's the smoke too? Jezzzzz! And a boot girll.I dial his number, straight to voicemail. As usual."GET YOUR PHONE OFF DND, YOU ACTUAL PSYCHO!" I scream into the empty air, my thumbs flying across the screen.I fire off a text: I’m coming over. Don't be "busy."He doesn’t reply, never does. But I know him and his kind of places. Places where he goes when he wants to disappear without actually leaving.High p

Alora’s PovThe city blurs past the car window in a smear of neon and steel, but all I still see is Leyla’s smug. LUCIEN TOOK ME TO SEE HIM. The words settle in slowly. Leyla has always been the perfect twin, known how to make things work for her. She moves with so much ease, one would think the world adjusts itself around her. I’ve never had that. I just take the heat and keep going. If I don't get smart, I already knows how this ends. I’m going to end up as nothing more than a pretty piece of furniture in Lucien’s penthouse with no value."Change of plans," I say, breaking the low hum of the car. “Take me to his office.”The driver’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, hesitant. "Sorry, ma’am. Boss ordered I take you home straight after brunch. No detours.""I didn't ask for his itinerary," I cut him off, my voice ice-flat, the chill in it surprises even me. "I gave you a direction. Turn the car around, or I’ll make sure the next job you’re looking for isn't in this city."He k

Leyla’s PovThe morning light in my apartment is a lot, exposing every loose thread in the rug and the fatigue etched in my face. I’m standing in front of my mirror, wrestling with a sundress over my head. A soft, breathable chiffon with daisies on a pale yellow background. It feels like a sharp contrast to the reality of a woman who has spent the last three nights grinding for tips under neon lights. Alora hit me up last night, talking about brunch. Said we needed to talk. Her treat.I mean… obviously. Was I meant to pay? You’re rich now, babe. Duhhh.My phone's blowing up on the dressing table just as I’m over here struggling with a stubborn knot in my hair, my fingers already loosing the battle. I peep at the screen and the name pulls a real smile out of me. The 'Oh, it's you' smile.“I know you couldn't get enough of me,” I say, slipping the phone between my shoulder and ear while I hunt for a hair tie. “You were blowing up my phone last night, boyyy. You know that’s when I work.

Lucien’s Pov The penthouse hits me with saffron and a cold silence. I toss my keys onto the console, the clock echoing through the empty foyer. My head is pounding; a relic of a twelve-hour day spent in boardrooms. I don't want to fight. I just want a drink, a hot shower, and a blackout curtain over the world. But my fiancée is waiting. Of course she is. Alora is in the kitchen, leaning against the kitchen counter with a glass of red wine on one hand and her phone in the other. She's dressed in a black sheer, floor-length silk robe. Her hair is rolled up in a bun, exposing that beautiful neck line. The fabric flows around her as she moves, hinting at the shape beneath, held together by a single ribbon at her waist. The table is set, suggesting an unexpected welcome. "You're late. Long day?” she asks, lifting her eyes from her phone to me. I chuckle dryly, massaging my temple. "Try 12 hours of being competent while everyone waits for you to mess up." She gives me a thumbs

Alora's PovThe car door opens with a soft, reluctant sigh. I step out, my coat brushing the seat before I tug it back into place. Sunlight spills into the cafe like a soft filter, all warm and sharp. Dust motes radiates in its beam, like they're suddenly alive. It hits my skin and it's like my chest is lowkey screaming, like it might shatter or dissolve. I scan the cafe.There he is. My hands start to shake. I feel like I'm on the run or something, even though Lucien's security detail is parked in the black SUV across the street, eyes on us like they're glued there. I walk over and slide into the booth across from him, the red vinyl sticking to my skin."Always stunning," he says, his eyes tracing the hollow of my throat down to my boobs. "Took you long enough.""We're here to talk," I whisper, the words tumbling out of me. "Lucien. What..."Marcel doesn't let me finish. He leans in, the scent of his perfume all over us. Instead of taking my hand, he lifts his index finger and pres

Alora's Pov The plan is already in motion by dawn. I get lost twice trying to find Lucien's office. It wasn't the directions. In fact, Leyla is whispering them into my ear with saint-level patience. It's the building itself. The glass corridors feel like a maze designed to unsettle you, reflections folding into one another until I didn't know which way was out. “Left now,” Leyla's voice crackles in my ear. “The small door beside the massive one.” “I’ve got it,” I lie, wiping my damp palms on my dress. “You still there?” she asks. “Unfortunately.” “Lora, if you want us to stop...” “I don’t.” The elevator opens onto the top floor. It’s actually quieter up here. “There’s no one at the reception,” I murmur. “Just a corridor and one door at the end.” “That’s his office,” Leyla says. Her voice tightens now. “Wait for his secretary before you go in. Don’t just walk...” I end the call. A small waiting area sits off to the side. Two leather sofas, a glass table, and

Leyla’s Pov Alora didn’t let me finish. The moment I mentioned Lucien Vale, she went deathly pale. She grips the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turns white, her whole body trembling as if she is bracing for a physical blow. “You can’t do this,” she rasps. “I won’t let you.” “You don’t understand, Lora,” I say, my voice cracking. “George is just twenty. He’s still a kid who forgets to lock the front door and leaves his sketches all over the kitchen floor. He won’t survive a week in a place like Ravenlock Prison. Friday is his hearing, and if I don't give Lucien what he wants, George doesn't come home. Ever.” The room is deathly quiet. I can hear the frantic ticking of the clock on the bedside table, sounding like a countdown. “Are you saying this because you actually think he's guilty?” I snap, the heat of desperation rising in my chest. “That our brother, the boy who still cries over dead birds, actually killed someone?” She looks up quickly, her eyes burning. “What? No.

Leyla's Pov By my fourth visit, I'm invisible. The secretary doesn't even look up; she just acknowledges my presence with a cold, silent stare before returning to her typing. I stand there a second too long, waiting for a "hello" that isn't coming. To her, I’m just the stripper sister of the man who killed Raymond Vale. I shift my weight, and a sharp, familiar pain shoots up my calves. My feet are still swollen from six hours on the main stage, and the skin around my ankles raw from the straps of seven-inch platforms. I reek of a life Lucien Vale wouldn't touch even with a gloved hand, yet here I am. George’s hearing is the morning after tomorrow. Somehow, his two million dollar bail was denied and even worse... his hearing pushed forward. So, if I don't get to Lucien today, my brother is as good as dead. I’m his only hope, and I’m running out of time. "Mr. Vale is in a meeting,” the secretary dismisses me. “I’ll wait.” She snaps, her patience breaking. "Look, I’ve told you a

Leyla’s Pov "Hey girl," Mira taps my shoulder. "Heard about your brother. Sorry about that.""Linda and her big mouth," I mutter, slipping off my heels."What?" I force a smile. “Nothing. Thanks but he’ll be out soon.”Mira snorts. “I’d say ‘thoughts and prayers,’ but those don’t usually beat murder charges.”I slowly turn to stare at her. She lifts both hands immediately. “Okay, damn. Too soon.”"Excuse you? Bitch, get out."She laughs on her way to the door. “You got it." The second she leaves, I let out a hard breath and lean closer to the mirror, dabbing at the corner of my lipstick before it smudges any further.Unbelievable. This bitch was not about to ruin my night.I tighten my grip on the curling iron and drag it through another section of hair, forcing myself to breathe through the irritation. This night is already bad enough.Then the door swings open again. I don’t bother turning around this time. “Leyla!” a voice snaps over the music outside.“You seriously need to

Alora's Pov"Chris!" I hiss as my body stiffens under the sharp, blinding spike of agony shooting up my heel. Hopping on one foot and clutching my toes, I glare down at the culprit. It's the jagged, green plastic dinosaur. Of course, it had to be the one toy designed like a medieval weapon.“Fantastic,” I mutter, teeth clenched. “Nothing says career fulfilment like being taken out by a seven-year-old’s weaponized Lego collection.”"Chrisssssss!" I try again, louder this time, my voice tightening as I pry the toy off my foot.A tiny, breathless giggle echos from the balcony, immediately followed by the quick scuffle of sneakers running away. Mischievous and unapologetic, of course. I exhale sharply and bend to pick up the toy when I spot two more scattered across the kitchen tiles like landmines.I limp slightly as I gather them. "Who needs a pension plan when you can just die of septic shock from a stubborn toddler?"The television hums softly in the living room, its glow spilling i