Novels by C.M.

A week later, the first true storm of spring lashed against the windows of Sterling Thorne’s office, rain sheeting down the panes in chaotic rivers. Inside, the atmosphere was a different kind of storm, tense, silent, and crackling with unspent fury. Melanie River stood before his desk, and she was a hurricane contained in a five-foot-two frame. A junior, nineteen, she had the compact, powerful build of a gymnast, which she was. Her auburn hair was a wild, damp mane around a face flushed with anger, her freckles standing out like copper dust across her nose. Her green eyes blazed, and her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, making the muscles in her biceps flex. Her uniform was a mess, mud splattered on the knees of her gray pants, the sleeve of her blouse torn at the shoulder. The report in Sterling’s hand was from Coach Briggs. Melanie River – Physical altercation with Sarah Li in the locker room. Sarah required two stitches above her eye. Melanie shows “no remorse.” Suspens

Phoebe’s eyes went wide. A soft “oh” escaped her lips. This was the first test, the leap from theory to practice. Her fingers, so steady when holding a debate trophy, fumbled at the first pearl button. It slipped free. Then the next. And the next. She kept her eyes downcast, her face aflame. When the blouse fell open, it revealed a simple, white cotton bra. She was elegant, slender, her breasts high and modest. Sterling’s gaze was clinical, appreciative. “Lovely. Now, the skirt. Unzip it and let it fall.” A whimper this time, but her hands moved. The zipper’s sound was loud in the silent room. The gray pleated skirt pooled around her ankles, leaving her in her bra, kneesocks, and plain white panties. She shivered, though the room was warm. “Come here,” he murmured, opening his arms slightly. She stepped out of the skirt-circle and took the two steps to him, stopping just inches away. He could smell her now, lavender soap and the clean scent of crisp cotton, undercut by the sharp

The following Monday afternoon, Principal Sterling Thorne sat in the quiet of his office, the memory of Nova’s defiant submission still a pleasant, humming undercurrent in his veins. He’d watched her in the hallways between classes, seen the new, secretive tilt to her smirk when their eyes met. It was a game well-played. Today, however, was a different kind of challenge. He glanced at the file open before him: Phoebe Ashford, 19, Senior. Class Valedictorian (projected). President of the Debate Team, Editor of the Literary Magazine, Lead in the Spring Musical. Her photograph showed a girl with a serene, intelligent face, honey-blonde hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and eyes the color of calm sea glass. Flawless. Untouchable. The perfect student. And therein lay the problem, according to the note from Mrs. Gable, the senior English teacher. “Excessive perfectionism leading to visible anxiety. Refuses all suggestions to delegate or reduce workload. Concerned about a potential bre

The late afternoon sun slanted through the polished windows of Principal Sterling Thorne’s office, casting long, elegant shadows across the Persian rug. At fifty-two, Sterling carried his authority like a tailored suit, impeccable, intimidating, and quietly powerful. His silver-flecked hair was perfectly styled, his charcoal suit jacket draped over the back of his leather chair. He was reviewing disciplinary reports, but his attention kept drifting to the clock. He was expecting a visitor. A soft knock echoed through the spacious office. “Come in,” Sterling called, his voice a low, commanding baritone. The door opened, and Nova stepped inside. She was a vision of calculated rebellion, a senior, eighteen years old, with jet-black hair streaked with electric blue. It fell in messy waves around a face dominated by large, kohl-rimmed eyes and a smirk that suggested she knew secrets the world wasn’t ready for. She wore the mandatory uniform, but had transformed it: the white blouse was

The silence he left in his wake was absolute, broken only by the rising howl of the wind and the first fat drops of rain hitting the glass. Minutes ticked by. No one moved. They stared at their objects, at the storm, at their own hands. Chloe was the first to break. A soft sob escaped her. She looked at the collar, gleaming dully on the dark velvet. She saw every moment of pretended pleasure, every hungry, secret glance, every time she’d molded herself to fit a fantasy. She reached down. Her fingers closed around the cool platinum. Without ceremony, she lifted it, brought it to her throat, and fastened the clasp. It clicked shut with a final, soft snick. She let out a shaking breath. It didn’t feel like a leash. It felt like a spine. Julian watched her from the corner of his eye. He looked at the cane. He remembered the bite of it, the humiliation, and then the strange, clean clarity that followed. The freedom in surrender. He thought of his gyms, his empire built on rigid control.

Elena stood holding the phone, utterly broken. The titan was gone. In her place was a hollow woman who had just heard the true cost of her victory. She slowly placed the phone down and sank into her chair, staring at nothing. Daddy let the silence stretch, allowing the weight of her confession to settle over everyone. "The bowl is not yet empty," he said finally. "We continue. But the nature of the game shifts now. You have seen the depths. Now, we see the connections. Chloe, draw again." The game proceeded, paper after paper, drawing out more secrets, forcing more intimacies. Chloe was commanded to kiss the person she felt most jealous of (she chose Elena, a hard, desperate kiss that tasted of salt and envy). Julian was ordered to let Alistair examine his body like a specimen, narrating every scar and imperfection. Marcus had to compose a haiku using only words torn from a magazine that described his mother (the result was devastatingly bleak). Finally, the bowl held only one las

NICHOLE’S POVThe words he threw at me didn't just sting; they tore into my chest like shrapnel.Hearing Odell look me dead in the eye and say that he despised everything about me, that my very existence made him want to vomit, should have broken my ambition. It should have made me despise him But instead, the pain curdled into something dark, heavy, and absolute.I did love him. That was the tragic, sick joke of it all. I had spent so long building a fortress of cold strategy that I hadn't realized how deeply his validation had anchored itself in my soul. And hearing him express a twisted, joyful pride in his own homosexuality simply because it meant he would never have to love a woman like me... it felt like my internal organs were being dissolved in acid.The scream that tore out of my throat wasn't a performance anymore. It was the sound of a heart snapping clean in half.Through the blur of hot tears, I felt my mother’s frantic hands wrap around me, shielding my body, pulling me

ODELL’S POVThe moment Nicole demanded fifty percent of my inheritance, a sharp, ugly clarity cut through the fog in my brain.It all clicked. The math finally added up.Nicole had never loved me. Not for a single second. All she ever wanted was my name, my status, and above all else, my money.As the golden boy of the Johnson dynasty, I was used to girls throwing themselves at me. Handsome, wealthy, popular, everywhere I turned, girls from elite families fell all over themselves trying to win my attention. I always assumed their affection was genuine. And when Nicole came into my life, acting like my closest confidante, I thought she was different. Even when she found out my deepest, most closely guarded secret—that I was gay—she stayed by my side. I had convinced myself she was just one of those rare, crazy-loyal souls who loved someone so deeply it didn't even matter. I even excused the fact that I had actually enjoyed sleeping with her, convincing myself that maybe, just maybe, my

NICHOLE’S POVThe dust was settling over the wreckage of our lives, but beneath the surface, my mind was at war.Mr. William and Vanessa had already flown back, taking my father with them to begin the colossal task of damage control and wedding orchestration. My mother, Cynthia, refused to leave my side just yet. She was staying at a nearby hotel, watching over me like a hawk, terrified to leave me alone with Odell. She still didn't trust him, and honestly, she had every right not to.According to the master schedule, I had one week left in the city to wrap up loose ends at school before flying back to join the family for the wedding countdown. And right at the top of that terrifying countdown was the Johnson family's private doctor. Vanessa had made it crystal clear: the moment I landed, our first stop would be his clinic for a full prenatal examination.Which meant I was marching straight toward an executioner's block.For days, I had torn through the internet trying to find a looph

NICOLE'S POV "You disgraceful, regretful son of mine!" Mr. William roared, his voice shaking the light fixtures above us. "I curse the day you were born! All you bring to my name is one humiliation after another! First, it was that pathetic scandal where you tried to kiss a boy back then, nearly ruined me before I spent millions doing damage control! And now you try to frame a young girl publicly?! What is your problem?! Where did I go wrong with you? Are you a psychopath?!"Odell squeezed his eyes shut, his cheek burning red, but his father wasn't done."Look at you!" Mr. William stepped directly into Odell’s face, towering over him. "Stop staring at the floor! I’ve done everything to build you up into a man, but you act like a ruthless, brainless animal! I built an empire! Do you know how hard I worked to establish the Johnson legacy? And you come out here acting like a monster, dragging my name into the dirt! You stupid, pathetic boy!"Mr. William raised his hand again, his face c

NICOLE'S POVThe narrative tilted. Almost overnight, the icy tide of hatred that had nearly drowned me turned into a warm, suffocating wave of public sympathy.My phone vibrated endlessly, but this time the comment sections were filled with tear-emoji paragraphs, lengthy public apologies, and humble repentance."Nicole, I'm so sorry I ever doubted you." "Odell is a master manipulator. You just loved the wrong guy." "She was carrying his child and he tried to frame her? Pure evil." "Protect Nicole at all costs!"I had become the campus martyr, the tragic, beautiful girl who gave her heart to a monster and got set up in return. Deliveries began arriving at the apartment door: massive bouquets of white lilies, baskets of artisanal chocolates, plush teddy bears, and handwritten notes begging for my forgiveness.Meanwhile, the vultures were picking Devon and Matthew’s reputations to the bone. Matthew had dropped out of sight completely; the video of him cornering Sophie in the alley had

The velvet curtains of room 408 were drawn tight, blocking out the late afternoon sun. I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, surrounded by room service trays with half-eaten food and room keys I hadn't turned in for weeks.Ever since I brought Matthew and Devon into the room to draft the plan, this hotel had been my sanctuary. I couldn't stay in my apartment with Nicole. Every time I looked at her, I felt trapped, like a rope was tied around my neck, pulling me toward an altar I never wanted. She was carrying my child, yeah, so I couldn't just kick her out into the street without looking like a monster. So I left. I hid in this five-star tomb and let the dominoes fall.Now, those dominoes had tumbled back and crushed me completely.My phone screen glowed violently on the duvet. I had already deleted my Instagram, my X account, and every social media app I owned, but the notifications still bled through on the university message boards.“Odell is a psychopath.” “Imagine doing this