Novels by Joshua Ahunwan

Lucian’s phone rings thirty seconds after Ariana hangs up.Ethan.He stares at the name on the screen. His best friend since freshman year of college. The guy who was there when Lucian’s father died. When he launched his first company. Every major moment of his adult life.The guy whose ex-girlfriend’s taste still lingers on Lucian’s tongue.He answers.“Hey, man.” Keep it normal. Easy. “What’s up?”“She broke up with me.” Ethan’s voice is wrecked. Raw. “For real this time. She came to my office and just, ended it.”Lucian closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”“Are you?” Something sharp edges into Ethan’s tone. “Because you don’t sound surprised.”“You cheated on her. What did you expect?”“I expected my best friend to have my back.” A pause. “Unless you think I deserve this.”“I think you made choices. This is the consequence.” Lucian moves to his office window. The same view Ariana saw four days ago. “She has every right to walk away.”“Whose side are you on?”“There are no sides. You fucke

Three days.I give myself three days to be pathetic. To ignore Ethan’s calls, sleep until noon, and let Sophia bring me takeout I don’t eat.On day four, I shower. Put on the black blazer that makes me feel competent. Drive to Ethan’s office building downtown.I’m done hiding.His assistant recognizes me. Jessica. She’s always been nice. Brought me coffee during those long nights I waited for Ethan to finish “important meetings” that apparently included Vanessa.“Ariana.” Her smile falters. “He’s, um, he’s in his office.”“I know.”“Should I tell him you’re—”“No.” I’m already walking past her desk. “This won’t take long.”I don’t knock. Just open the door.Ethan’s on the phone. He sees me and nearly drops it.“I’ll call you back.” He hangs up without waiting for a response. Stands. “Ariana. God, I’ve been trying to reach you.”“I know.”“Where have you been? I’ve been going crazy. Sophia wouldn’t tell me anything. I thought, I was worried something happened.”“Something did happen.”

The coffee tastes like cardboard.I’m sitting in Lucian’s kitchen, on his barstool, drinking his terrible coffee because leaving felt impossible and staying feels worse.We made it fifteen minutes.Fifteen minutes of me in the service elevator, him probably back in bed, both of us pretending the agreement would hold.Then I realized I left my phone charger. Plugged into his wall. Next to his bed.I came back.He opened the door before I could knock.Now we’re here. In his kitchen that’s bigger than my entire apartment. Drinking coffee that costs more than my car payment and tastes like regret.“We can’t do this again,” I say.“Agreed.”“I mean it. This was, it was a mistake.”“I know.” He’s leaning against the counter across from me. Still shirtless. Still devastating. He hasn’t looked at me directly since I came back.“A huge mistake.”“You’ve said that. Three times now.”“Because it’s true.” I wrap both hands around the mug. It’s warm. Solid. Real. “You’re his best friend.”“I’m awa

Silk sheets.That’s my first coherent thought. These aren’t my sheets. Mine are cotton, budget-friendly, bought on sale at Target.These are silk. Cool against my bare skin. Expensive.Oh God.I keep my eyes closed. If I don’t open them, maybe last night didn’t happen. Maybe I’m home. Maybe the champagne and the stranger and the feeling of his hands on my waist as we swayed to music that didn’t exist, maybe it was all a dream.My head pounds. Definitely not a dream.I crack one eye open. Floor-to-ceiling windows. City skyline. Sunrise bleeding gold and pink across buildings I can’t afford to live in.Definitely not my apartment.I turn my head slowly. The movement makes my skull throb.He’s there.Asleep. Face-down in the pillow beside me, one arm stretched across the space between us like he’d been reaching for something. Dark hair messed from, from my fingers, oh God, I remember my fingers in his hair.In the morning light, I can see him clearly. Sharp jawline. Broad shoulders. A ta

The scotch tastes like smoke and bad choices.I should care. I don’t.My phone vibrates again in my purse. The buzzing feels distant, like it’s happening to someone else. Someone who still cares what Ethan Cole has to say.The stranger three seats down hasn’t moved. Hasn’t looked at me again since that toast. But I’m aware of him the way you’re aware of a storm building on the horizon. Inevitable. Dangerous.“Another?” The bartender hovers, professional concern creasing his forehead.“Keep them coming.” My voice sounds stronger than I feel. Good.He pours. I drink. The burn is familiar now. Almost comforting.“Rough night?” A woman’s voice. I glance over. She’s perched two stools down on my other side, perfectly styled hair, designer dress, the kind of woman who’s never been surprised by betrayal because she expects it.“Something like that.”“Aren’t they all?” She raises her martini in mock salute and turns back to her own demons.I like her. We’ll never speak again, and I like her.

The champagne bottle sweats in my hand, condensation dripping between my fingers like the hours I spent picking out this lingerie.Three years. Three years of loving Ethan Cole, and I’m about to surprise him two days early for our anniversary because waiting felt impossible. The red lace under my coat cost more than my grocery budget, but his face when he sees it will be worth every penny.I should’ve called first.The elevator climbs to his penthouse, each floor ticking by while my heart hammers against my ribs. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five. I practiced my smile in the car. Sultry. Confident. The woman who knows she’s loved.God, I’m an idiot.The doors slide open. His hallway smells like expensive cologne and old money, the kind that reminds you you don’t belong here. I’ve been here a hundred times, but tonight my heels feel too loud on the marble. I shift the champagne to my other hand, fish out the key he gave me six months ago.“For emergencies,” he’d said.“Or surprise