Novels by janetakande83

The knock on the apartment door came on a Tuesday afternoon. Emma was painting while the babies napped. Damien was at the office dealing with restructuring issues that still required his attention. She almost didn't answer it. But something made her open the door. A woman stood in the hallway. She was older, maybe in her sixties, with silver hair and kind eyes. Emma didn't recognize her. "Emma?" the woman asked. "Yes," Emma replied carefully. "My name is Catherine Vale," the woman said. "I'm Richard's ex-wife. I need to talk to you about something important." Emma didn't invite her in immediately. She stood in the doorway, trying to process why Richard's ex-wife would be showing up at her door. "How did you find me?" Emma asked. "Richard gave me your address," Catherine said. "Before he went to prison the second time. He told me if anything happened to him, I should reach out to you." Emma's stomach tightened. "What happened to him?" "He had a heart attack,"

Three months after the twins were born, Emma was exhausted in a way that sleep couldn't fix. Alexander and Sophia were beautiful but demanding. They cried at different times. They fed at different schedules. Emma's body felt like it didn't belong to her anymore. One night, after the babies finally fell asleep, Damien found her standing in the kitchen at three in the morning, staring at nothing. "Come to bed," he said. "I can't," Emma replied. "One of them will wake up." "Then come sit with me for five minutes," Damien said. He led her to the bedroom and pulled her onto the bed, still fully clothed. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. "I know this is hard," he said. "I love them," Emma said. "But I don't recognize myself anymore." Damien was quiet for a moment. "When do you want me?" he asked. Emma didn't understand the question at first. "As a woman," Damien continued. "Not as a mother. Not as my wife. As Emma. When d

Emma opened the envelope slowly. Richard's handwriting was neat. Precise. The handwriting of someone who'd spent years controlling everything, including how he presented himself on paper. Dear Emma, I don't know if you'll ever read this. I don't know if you'll care. But I need to try. I am your biological father. You know that now. What you may not know is that I've known about you since before you married Damien. I had you investigated. I learned everything about you. Your struggles. Your strength. Your refusal to give up even when everything was working against you. And I was proud of you. That's the truth I need you to understand. I didn't orchestrate Margaret's attack because I wanted to hurt you. I orchestrated it because I thought you were getting too close to discovering the truth about Katherine's death. I thought if I removed you from the picture, Damien would stop asking questions. I thought I could protect myself by eliminating the threat. I was completely w

Emma's eyes opened to white walls and the sound of machines beeping. Her chest hurt. Everything hurt. A nurse was checking her vitals. "Welcome back," the nurse said. "You've been asleep for three days." Three days. Emma tried to remember but couldn't. Just fragments. Pain. Blood. Damien's voice calling her name. "The bullet didn't hit anything vital," the nurse continued. "You're going to recover." Emma tried to sit up but her body wouldn't cooperate. "Don't move," the nurse said. "You need rest." Over the next week, police came and took her statement. Lawyers came with documents. Damien never left her side. Margaret confessed to everything. Richard had been orchestrating it from prison, paying her to watch Emma, to report back, to make sure Emma stayed close to Damien. Richard knew Emma was his daughter. He'd known before the marriage. "He was using you," Damien said when he told her. "To help him get information. To help him rebuild his empire." Emma didn't

Margaret's voice on the phone had been calm but there was something underneath it. A threat wrapped in politeness. "Meet me at the manor," she'd said. "Alone. If you bring Damien, I won't talk." Emma had argued but Margaret hung up. Now Emma stood outside Cross Manor in the darkness, understanding that she was about to walk into something dangerous. Damien was supposed to be meeting her there in an hour. They'd agreed he would stay back and let Emma talk to Margaret first, then move in if things got bad. Emma had a panic button on her phone. One press and Damien would come running. She didn't plan on needing it. The manor was exactly as she remembered. Cold stone. Expensive everything. The kind of place that had seen too many secrets. Margaret was waiting in the study. "Thank you for coming," Margaret said. She was sitting in a leather chair, looking like she owned the world. "What do you want?" Emma asked. "To tell you the truth," Margaret replied. "About your hus

The gallery was packed. Emma stood in the back watching people move through the space, looking at her paintings. Strangers. Collectors. Critics. People who'd read about the drama and came out of curiosity instead of genuine interest in her work. She wore a black dress. Simple. Nothing that would distract from the paintings. Tyler arrived early. He looked good. Healthier than he had in the hospital. He moved slowly, like his body was still recovering, but his eyes were clear. "These are incredible," he said when he saw her paintings. "Thanks," Emma replied. They didn't hug. They didn't pretend things were normal between them. They just stood there acknowledging that something had shifted and they were both trying to navigate it. "I'm sorry," Tyler said. "I know I've said it a thousand times but I need you to know that I mean it." "I know you do," Emma said. "Does that mean you forgive me?" Tyler asked. Emma thought about it. About the lies. About the money. About