Novels by Leeyah

Roxana I wake before the alarm. For a while, I simply lie there staring at the cracked ceiling. The text message from Daniel replays itself in my head. *Maria says to bring a reference and identification tomorrow before you can continue working* Identification, that’s not a problem. The problem is the other word. Reference. I sit slowly, reaching for my backpack. The passport is exactly where I hid it beneath my clothes. My fingers brush over the navy cover. At least I have this. I open it, and the photograph stares back at me. My name is written across it delicately. I slip the passport back into my bag and sit there for several long moments. Who could be my reference? Marco? The thought alone makes me sick to my stomach. Tristan? Imagine asking the man I ran away from to recommend me for a job. My mother? Marco will surely find out. I groan and drop my head into my hands, I have no one, just me. Nobody else. Nineteen years of living yet not one person I can safe

Roxana I don't stop walking until I'm several steps away from the cafe. Only then do I press both hands against the brick wall beside the entrance and lower my head. Breathe. Just breathe. My lungs refuse to cooperate. My heart is still pounding so violently it hurts. It was only a stranger. Only a man wearing the same cologne. Nothing more. Not Tristan. Not even close. So why did one familiar scent destroy me completely? I squeeze my eyes shut. “ I haven’t moved on,” I repeat. I need to stop lying to myself. It still hurts so much. I cover my mouth until a sob escapes, the cafe door opens and Daniel steps out, “ Roxana.” I hurriedly wipe my face before turning to him, “ I'm fine.” He doesn't look convinced. He walks over slowly, carrying a bottle of water. “You don't look fine.” I force a smile. “I got dizzy.” He raises an eyebrow, “From perfume?” My cheeks turn crimson, he noticed. Of course, he noticed. “ I...” the explanation dies before it reaches my mouth. What

Roxana The alarm rings precisely at five thirty. For a foolish second, I think I'm in New York. My hand instinctively reaches toward the other side of the bed, and it touches the cold sheet. Not Tristan. Never Tristan anymore. The realization hits me before I even open my eyes. Mexico. The tiny guesthouse, the narrow mattress. I lie there for another minute, staring upward. After the alarm stops ringing, I finally push myself up. The black apron Daniel gave me yesterday hangs neatly over the back of the chair. It looks oddly important. Like proof that yesterday actually happened. Proof that someone trusted me with something. I climb off the bed and take a quick shower. The water is barely warm, but I don't complain. A week ago, I would have. A week ago, I lived in a billionaire-dollar penthouse overlooking Manhattan. Now I'm grateful the shower works. Funny how quickly people change. Or maybe... how quickly life changes them. I pull on the faded jeans and the clean shirt I b

Tristan The words don’t register. Not at first. I stand motionless in the middle of the ruined bedroom, my phone pressed against my ears. Glass crunches beneath my shoes. Blood drips lazily from my knuckles onto the marble floor. “Say it again.” Lucian doesn't. He doesn't need to. My gaze roams the entire bedroom for a while, Lucian finally speaks, his voice coming out low and calm, “ Matteo is dead.” The room seems to shrink, rain taps softly against the shattered bedroom window. My breathing slows. Not because I'm calm. Because my mind has already started working. “How?” “A sniper. According to the first reports.” “No,” I say firmly. Lucian falls silent. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. “No.” I repeat, “That’s how they say he died.” Another pause, “They are saying it was an assassination.” “They are wrong.” Matteo De Luca didn't survive four decades at the top of the Italian underworld only to be taken down by a lucky bullet. Men like him didn't die bec

Tristan The penthouse is exactly the way she left it, I hate it. The elevator door slides open with a soft chime. No footstep greets me. No voice calls my name. Just silence. Cold. Unforgiving. Lucian follows me inside, “You should rest.”I don't answer him. “You have been wearing the same clothes for three days. You need to eat.”Still nothing. I hear him sigh behind me, “At least clean that hand.”The apartment swallows his words. I walk away from him, toward the bedroom, and he follows. Every step feels heavier than the last. The door is half open, and I push it open gently. It swings inward, and everything stops. The familiar scent of her fills the room. Vanilla. Jasmine. Something soft I never bothered to learn the name because I thought it would always be there. My chest tightens. Her book still lies open on the bedside table. Face down. A ribbon marks the page she never finished. A mug sits beside it, coffee. Half full. Cold. My eyes drift farther, her slippers are sti

Roxana Something hard drops into my stomach. The urge to run out of the cafe overwhelms me. There’s no way he knows me. There is no way we have seen before unless he’s one of tristan’s men. Has he found me already? My eyes squeeze shut for a minute, i can't believe i walk into this myself.I tighten my grip on the plastic bag in my head, trying as hard as possible to calm my raging breath. Just as I'm about to walk away before something unbelievable happens, the young man smiles innocently. “ You look familiar.” he studies me carefully again, not suspiciously, curiously, like he’a trying to remember something. Then shakes his head, “ my bad. I must have mistaken you for someone else.”A breath I didn't realize i was holding escapes me. My knees almost buckle at the relief that slams into me with full force. I force a smile quickly, “ we haven't met before.”“ maybe not.” he doesn't push. Thank God. He finally turns toward the owner and begin speaking in rapid Spanish. The words

Caroline I stare at the phone long after the call ends, the apartment is silent, too silent. Not the suffocating silence I've grown used to these past few days, it’s the kind of silence that follows life-changing news. “ Carrie.….” Mia’s voice sounds far away and i blink. “What did he say?” I lower the phone slowly, still trying to convince myself i didn't imagine the conversation. “ I got the job.” For a second, Mia doesn't react, then, “You what?” “ I've been given the job Mia.” She lets out a scream loud enough to shake the apartment before throwing her arms around me. “ I told you!” she practically yells, “ I told you something better would come.” A shaky laugh escapes me. Three days ago, i was sitting on the bathroom floor staring at two pink lines. Today, i have a job. The contrast is so absurd I don't know whether to cry or laugh. Mia pulls back, both hands gripping my shoulders, “What exactly did he say?” “He said…..” i replay the conversation in my head, “He re

Caroline Silence settles over the apartment, not the comfortable type, the type that presses against my heart until breathing becomes difficult. Mia continues staring at me, as though waiting for me to laugh and admit this is all some terrible joke. Ever since I found out I’m pregnant three days ago, I've not found it in me to explain to them. Shame overwhelms me. Where am I even going to start from? The idea alone sounds crazy. Yet here we are, I have no other choice than to spill it. Mia’s voice comes out carefully, “You said you had a one-night stand with a stranger.” I nod once. “And now, you are pregnant.” I nod again. She lowers herself onto the couch in the living room. “For God's sake Carrie.” “ I know, it’s stupid.” “No, I don't think you do.” She runs her hands over her face, “Start from the beginning.” I sink onto the armchair opposite her, with my hands folded gently on my lap. “It was the night of Grey and Callie’s wedding. I couldn't handle the pain,

Neil Three days. Three days have passed, and Caroline Sawyer’s file still sits on my desk. I should have filed it away the moment I decided to reinstate Vanessa. Instead, every morning I move it aside. Every afternoon, I find myself reading it again, even though it makes no sense. I don't dwell on people I don't hire, and I certainly don't think about a candidate after rejecting them — yet here I am, again. I flip open the file. Caroline Sawyer. Twenty-six, formerly married. Strong organizational skills. Event coordination. Public relations. I know every word by now, but still… Something about the name refuses to leave me alone. Sawyer. Why does it sound so familiar? I close the file and lean back in my chair. My office is silent except for the faint hum of the city beyond the glass walls. I run my hand over my jaw. “Where have I heard the name before?” No answer—only that irritating feeling sitting at the back of my mind. I pull the laptop closer. One search, that’s all

Neil By the time I leave the office, my head feels like it’s carrying the weight of the entire company. Twelve hours, three board meetings, two investor calls, and one reinstatement letter I regret signing. I loosen my tie as the elevator descends toward the underground parking garage. Usually, work clears my mind; today, however, it only made everything worse. Caroline Sawyer’s file has remained on my desk all day. I could even find it in me to trash it. I keep getting a nagging feeling, one I don't understand yet. Every time I look at the file, irritation settles somewhere beneath my ribs. Not because of her—because she should have been here tomorrow. Instead, Vanessa will be walking back into the company on Monday. I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, and the engine of my Lamborghini growls to life. The drive home is quiet except for the conflicting thoughts racing through my head. For once, Damon doesn't call. Xander doesn't send his stupid text messages or voice n

Caroline My hands won't stop shaking. I lock the bathroom door behind me and stare at the small box in my hand. The instructions suddenly look much more complicated than they should. I force myself to read them twice. Then a third time. My pulse pounds loudly in my ears as I tear the package open. “This is ridiculous,” I whisper. It has to be a lie. Five minutes from now, I will walk out there, tell Mia she’s wrong, and we will laugh about how stress made me paranoid. I follow the instructions carefully, then place the test on the edge of the sink. Three minutes. I refuse to look at it; instead, I pace the tiny bathroom, one step after another, until I can hear my heartbeat booming. My mind drifts back to the divorce, to Grey, to the interviews I didn't get, to every single thing that has gone wrong this year. This can't be one more. The timer on my phone vibrates. Three minutes. My breathing stops for a moment. Slowly, I force myself to look at it. For several seconds, my

Caroline My heart skips a beat, then a nervous laugh escapes from my throat. This is ridiculous. It can’t be true; I can't be pregnant. I stand in the middle of my living room, hating the way Mia keeps looking at me as if she’s seeing through me. “ Mia, that’s ridiculous,” I say, ignoring the pounding of my heartbeat. She doesn't laugh with me, and the smile slips from my face. “ Mia.” “ You need to remember... like, when exactly did you see your last period?” I swallow hard, scanning my brain for an answer, yet nothing relevant pops up. The last few months have been a disaster: divorce, moving out, looking for jobs, trying to rebuild my life—everything has blurred into one giant mess. “ You don't remember?” I rub my forehead. “ No.” “ Not even roughly?” I rub my forehead again. “ I don't know, maybe last month.” Irritation flashes across Mia’s eyes. “ Maybe?” “ Okay, definitely not last month. Maybe two months.” Her eyes widen, and my stomach drops—something is terribl