Novels by Zane wilder

Monday morning, and the city outside my office feels impossibly bright, almost cruel in its cheerfulness. I sip my coffee, letting the warmth ground me, my mind still on the weekend. I have now fully moved into Emily’s apartment till I find one for myself. I went back to Tristan’s house to get my stuff. I had gone on Saturday morning, that way I made sure we didn’t have any unnecessary encounters. He always plays golf with his friends and has brunch at the other side of town on Saturday mornings.“Ma’am, the documents for today are all ready,” Felicia says, appearing at the door with her usual efficiency.“And here’s your coffee,” she adds, placing the steaming cup on my desk.“Thanks, Felicia,” I murmur, taking it. She nods and leaves, and the silence returns, broken only by the hum of the city.Alone, Anastasia sipped, letting the warmth settle her. She flips through the files in front of her.A soft knock breaks her from her flow state.“Come in”It’s her boss.“Anastasia, there’s

My chest feels like it’s being squeezed from all sides, each breath sharp and shallow. I step forward, but my legs feel heavier than ever, as if the polished marble underfoot is pulling me down.“Anastasia…” my father’s voice begins again, but I cut him off before he can finish.“Don’t,” I say, my voice firm, though it trembles just slightly. “Just… don’t.”‘Anastasia, please just sit let’s discuss this as a family’ he pleadsI walk towards the dining table where different dishes have been served like a feastI take a seat at the far end of the table, opposite my father. He is seated at the head, my stepmother on his right, Sharon at his left and Tristian next to her.The perfect family.A maid serves my food and disappears into the house.We start eating in awkward silence. I don’t eat anything. I just fiddle with my food. Could be poisoned, who knows?My father clears his throat, to break the silence“They’ve already informed me of everything.” He starts“Everything?” I let out a sh

“It’s the men’s room,” he says, pointing at the sign on the door.I freeze, staring at him. Men’s room. My brain refusing to process.“You… you are joking,” I manage.His smirk only widens, like he’s enjoying my discomfort. “Not joking, sweetheart. Looks like you got the wrong door.”I take a step back, heart thudding. Everything about him—tall, dark, sharp eyes, that infuriating smirk is unsettling, yet… I can’t look away.“Why… why are you here?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.He leans lazily against the sink, sleeves rolled, one eyebrow raised. “Why do you think?” His voice is low, smooth, velvety. A little dangerous.I glare.“Besides, I should be asking you that,” he adds.Heat rises to my cheeks, and I look away, pretending to fix my hair, though I can feel him watching me. Every instinct tells me to run—but something about him… something about this encounter… makes me want to stay.I clear my throat, finally finding words. “You should leave.”“And if I don’t?” he asks,

After leaving the apartment, I drive around for a while before I find myself at the one place I knew I would inevitably come to.I stand in front of a cute bungalow, my hand hovering over the doorbell.I let out a slow breath and press it.A few seconds pass.Then footsteps.The door swings open to reveal a woman with blonde hair packed into a messy bun at the top of her head. She’s wearing an oversized yellow shirt with what looks like a ketchup stain on the front. Her blue eyes find mine.“Anna? When did you get back? I didn’t know you were…”I don’t let her finish before I launch myself into her arms.Her familiar warmth and scent envelop me.She stiffens in surprise, then quickly pulls back, holding me at arm’s length as she scans my face.“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s wrong, baby? Talk to me.”I open my mouth to speak.Nothing comes out.And then it hits.Hot tears stream down my face.She doesn’t hesitate, just pulls me inside and wraps me in a tight hug.Fifteen minutes l

“Come on, Tristian… pick up your phone.”The call goes straight to voicemail again.I let out a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it.Of course.He always does this.“Ma’am, we’re here.”The driver’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I blink, realizing we’ve stopped.I look up from my phone, the screen still lit with the call that just ended.“That’ll be $59.28, ma’am.”I nod and open my purse, pulling out a $100 bill.“Keep the change.”His face lights up instantly. “Thank you, ma’am.”Charlie steps out to help with my luggage, like he always does.Charlie has been my ride for months now, on days I’m too tired to drive or when my ride disappoints me.Like today.Tristian was supposed to pick me up from the airport.I waited for almost an hour before I called Charlie—long enough to feel stupid for texting him.Called. Texted. Called again.Nothing.“Have a nice day, ma’am.”“You too, Charlie.”At least someone is reliable.He drives off, leaving me standing in front of the apartme