Novels by Prestige Miiky

Morning did not ease its way into the De Luca estate. It arrived fully formed, bright and unforgiving, spilling through the tall windows like an intrusion. I lay still for a while, listening to the house wake around me. Soft footsteps passed my door. Somewhere far away, a door closed. The estate never truly slept; it only waited.When I finally sat up, my body felt heavier than it should have. Not just from the pregnancy, but from the weight of knowing that today would not belong to me. I had learnt that time here was measured in Lorenzo’s plans, not my comfort.A knock came, sharp and precise.“Come in,” I said, already bracing myself.Mrs. Gable entered with her usual rigid posture, followed by two women I hadn’t seen before. They carried garment bags and boxes, their faces polite but distant, like this was just another task on a long list.“You have an engagement this afternoon,” Mrs. Gable said. “You will need to be ready in one hour.”“What kind of engagement?” I asked, though I

The De Luca estate did not welcome me. It absorbed me.The iron gates slid shut behind the car with a slow, deliberate sound that echoed far too loudly in my chest. I twisted slightly in my seat, watching the metal bars lock into place, sealing off the road, the city, and the fragile version of my life I had been clinging to. The estate stretched ahead like a private world untouched by time, with endless lawns trimmed into perfect obedience and stone paths that curved toward destinations I had not chosen.I rested one hand over my stomach, fingers curling instinctively. The movement was small, but it grounded me. Whatever this place was meant to do to me, I was not alone inside my own body.The car stopped in front of the main entrance. Lorenzo stepped out first, already composed, already distant, his expression as controlled as the estate itself. He didn’t offer a hand. He never did. I followed him out, my shoes sinking slightly into the gravel that probably cost more than my rent us

The De Luca estate was less of a home and more of a fortress, and the air inside felt thick and suffocating. As the car rolled up the long, winding driveway, it hit me with brutal clarity that my life as a normal person was officially over.A woman in a sharp black suit waited at the front door. She didn’t smile or offer a greeting. Her eyes flicked to my small suitcase with open disdain.“I am Mrs. Gable, the house manager,” she said, posture rigid. “Mr. De Luca has informed us of your… situation. You’ll be staying in the west wing. Follow me.”I trailed behind her into a foyer large enough to swallow my entire apartment building. Polished white marble floors reflected the light, and every step I took echoed like a gunshot.“Does everyone here look like they just came from a funeral?” I asked, trying to ease the silence.Mrs. Gable didn’t slow. “We are professionals, Miss Santoro. We serve the De Luca family, not conversation.”“I’m a De Luca now too,” I said, though the words tasted

The ride was silent and suffocating. I sat in the back of the SUV, flanked by two men who looked like they hadn’t blinked in a decade. Outside the tinted windows, Manhattan blurred into streaks of white and yellow. I kept my hand pressed to my stomach, feeling the tiny life inside me pulse, wondering if the baby could feel my heart hammering against my ribs.We pulled into a private underground garage and I was ushered into a glass elevator that shot upward so fast my ears popped. When the doors opened, I stepped into a space that didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a fortress marble, glass, steel.Lorenzo was already there, standing by a window overlooking the city. He’d removed his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms and a watch that probably cost more than my father’s legal fees.“Sit,” he said, not turning around.“I’d rather stand,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. “And I’d rather be in my own bed. You can’t just kidnap people because you have a

My feet felt heavy by the time my shift at Sal’s Diner hit the eight-hour mark. The smell of old grease and cheap coffee clung to my skin like it had soaked into my bones. I shifted my weight, trying to ease the ache in my lower back, and adjusted the oversized apron that was becoming harder to tie."Table four needs more water, Isabella. And stop leaning on the counter. You aren’t paid to look tired," Mr. Henderson barked from behind the register.He was a small man with a permanent scowl and a habit of sweating through his polyester shirts. He knew I needed this job, and he enjoyed reminding me that I was replaceable."I'm on it, Mr. Henderson," I said, forcing politeness."And do Brenda’s side-work," he added. "She’s on her break."I glanced toward the breakroom. Brenda had been on her “ten-minute” break for nearly forty minutes. I found her sitting on a milk crate, scrolling through her phone and blowing a bubble with her gum."Brenda, Henderson wants the ketchup bottles refilled

The air in the waiting room was so cold it felt like it was trying to freeze my blood. I sat on the edge of a plastic chair that hummed with the building’s ventilation, clutching my purse to my lap. I had checked my bank balance six times on the subway ride over.Four dollars and twelve cents.That was all I had left to my name.“Isabella Santoro?”A nurse in pale blue scrubs stood in the doorway with a clipboard. She didn’t look cruel. She looked distracted, like she was thinking about lunch. To her, this was just Tuesday. To me, it was the day I stopped belonging to myself.I stood, knees weak. “That’s me.”“Follow me, dear. We need to review the final consent forms before Dr. Thorne comes in.”I followed her down a hallway washed in white and light grey. She led me into a small office and gestured to a chair.“The Genesis Project is very strict about legalities,” she said, handing me a thick stack of papers. “You’ve passed all screenings. This is just final sign-off. You understand