Novels by Angel fiorella

Years had passed since I had faked my life away to survive him. Since then, we had both grown in ways I could never have imagined. He had changed—truly, deeply—and I had healed. The chaos, the heartbreak, the fear of the past no longer ruled our lives. What we had now was nothing like the obsession or toxicity that had once consumed us. It was grounded, safe, and real.Our wedding was quiet, intimate, exactly what we both needed. There were no grand crowds, no dramatic gestures, just the people who mattered most—and a promise that we would choose each other every single day. Standing there, hand in hand, I looked into his eyes. I didn’t see the boy who had hurt me, but the man who had faced his mistakes, owned his past, and fought tirelessly to become better—not for anyone else, but for me.“I love you,” he whispered as he held my hands. “Not because I need you, but because I respect you. Not because I’m afraid of losing you, but because I want to be with you. Always.”And I smiled, t

I had been gone for years.Long enough to build a life that didn’t shake when my phone buzzed. Long enough to stop looking over my shoulder. Long enough to forget the sound of his voice in my head telling me who I was supposed to be.I had a new name. A quiet job. A small apartment filled with sunlight and peace. I had learned how to breathe again.And then one day… he found me.Not the way I expected.No dramatic confrontation.No accusations.No anger.Just a letter.It was handwritten. My hands trembled as I opened it, half-expecting the past to rush back in and swallow me whole.But it didn’t.*I don’t know if you’ll ever read this.I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me.I don’t even know if you’re the same person anymore.But I am not the man I was.I spent years hating myself for what I did to you.I went to therapy. I learned what control really was.I learned how love should never hurt.I’m not asking you to come back.I just needed you to know…I finally understand why you l

I should have known better.When his message appeared on my screen after months of silence, my heart still stopped.Please. Just talk to me. I’m sorry. I know I ruined everything.I stared at the words for a long time. Too long.I told myself I was stronger now. That I had left. That I had survived him. That I wouldn’t fall back into the same trap. But apologies have a way of reopening wounds that never fully healed.So I answered.When we met, he looked different. Quieter. Smaller somehow. His eyes didn’t burn with control the way they used to. Instead, they looked tired. Regretful.“I messed up,” he said, voice breaking. “I know I hurt you. I know I destroyed us. I hate myself for it.”I wanted to scream. I wanted to walk away. But instead, I listened.He told me he’d changed. That losing me had broken him. That he finally understood what he had done. He apologized for the cheating. For the control. For the way he had treated me like something he owned instead of someone he loved.A

I packed my bag in silence. Each item I folded, each small piece of my life I tucked away, felt like a statement. I was leaving him. Leaving the chaos, the lies, the jealousy, the manipulation. Leaving the boy I had once loved—and hated in equal measure.The test had confirmed it. The baby was his. There was no doubt in my mind. But that knowledge didn’t make the decision easier. It made it sharper, heavier, more urgent. I couldn’t stay in that house, in that life, under his control. Not for me, not for the child I carried.When he came to my door that morning, I was already ready. Calm. Determined.“You can’t leave,” he said, voice low but dangerous. “You’re mine. And so is that baby.”I stared at him, eyes steady, heart pounding. “You don’t own me,” I said softly but firmly. “And you don’t own this life. I will raise this child on my terms, not yours.”His face twisted in fury. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t walk away!”“I am,” I said. “And I won’t look back.”The trip to the airport w

It started with a quiet dread that I couldn’t shake. For days, my stomach had been off—not just hunger, but a twisting, uneasy feeling that refused to go away. My mind raced, refusing to calm, knowing deep down something had changed. I didn’t want it to be true. I hated the thought, hated the timing, hated the implications. But I had to know. The test confirmed it. I was pregnant. A wave of panic and disbelief hit me first. My chest tightened, my hands shook, and for a moment I felt frozen, trapped between fear and shock. And then came the anger—the anger at him, at myself, at the world that had twisted this relationship into something I barely recognized anymore. I didn’t want to tell him. Not yet. I wanted to figure out how to handle this, how to protect myself, how to survive the chaos he had created in my life. But he found out anyway. It was a text, blunt and demanding: We need to talk. Now. I tried to ignore it. I told myself I would face him on my own terms. But he showe

I had spent days replaying everything in my head. Every lie he had told me, every text he had sent, every smirk that had made my chest tighten even as it made me furious. I hated him. And yet… I couldn’t stop thinking about him.By the weekend, I realized something important: I didn’t have to be his victim anymore. I didn’t have to let him control my emotions, my choices, my life. Not anymore.So I made a decision.I would fight fire with fire.It started small. I stopped answering his texts immediately. I ignored calls. I acted indifferent when he appeared, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered or upset.He noticed. Immediately.“Why are you ignoring me?” he demanded one evening when he caught up with me at my locker. His eyes were dark, sharp, dangerous.“I’m not ignoring you,” I said smoothly, hiding my pulse, hiding my anger. “I’m busy. Focused.”“Busy with him?” His voice dropped, venomous.I froze, knowing he meant my friend—the same one he had accused me