Novels by Leemah's Luxe

" Finish up your meal so Ari can drop you off at Grandma's,” I tell Lila, placing the glass of milk beside her. A set of footsteps has me turning my head to the staircase. My heart sinks when I see Noah, Isabella and her daughter Ivy coming down. Isabella's hand in my husband's and he's smiling down at her like she's all he can see. “Ari," Noah calls to our driver who's standing by the door with a cup of coffee. “Ivy has a sleepover at her friend's place. You'll take her there once she's finished upstairs " Lila pouts and I hear her complain before she voices it. “ But I have piano rehearsal with Grandma tonight." Noah glares at her and she squirms in her seat. " Ivy has a school assignment to do with her classmates. Ari will drive her there before taking you anywhere “His tone is the clipped and final. I want to object, but I don't have it in me. Isabella and her child have been here barely week and he's cared more about Ivy than he's ever cared for our daughter her whole life.

The penthouse kitchen glows under the soft golden lights of the chandelier, filled with the comforting aroma of freshly baked chocolate cake. Vanilla extract, melted butter, and rich cocoa mingle in the air, wrapping around me like a warm hug I desperately wish could extend to the rest of this enormous, echoing home. My hands are dusted with flour, and beside me, my three-year-old daughter Lila stands on her little step stool, her chubby fingers carefully pressing colorful sprinkles onto the thick layer of frosting.“Mommy, look! I made the biggest heart ever with the red ones!” Lila beams up at me, her dark curls bouncing, eyes sparkling with pure excitement. A streak of chocolate smears across her cheek, and her small apron– the one I sewed for her with tiny embroidered flowers – is covered in evidence of our afternoon project.I lean down and kiss the top of her head, inhaling her sweet baby scent mixed with sugar. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart. Daddy is going to love it so much. Yo

PrologueThe ambulance siren wails like a dying scream through the rainy night, and my heart pounds so hard I can barely breathe. I sit squeezed beside Noah on the narrow stretcher, my hand clutching his cold fingers while the paramedics work around us. His face is pale, lips tinged blue, chest rising in shallow, painful gasps. Every jolt of the vehicle sends fresh terror through me.“Please hold on,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “You’re going to be okay, Noah. I’m right here.” I hold his hand tightly because this is the only chance I get to hold him, when he's vulnerable and weak. When he can't push me away and glare at me with all the hate in the world. The ambulance doors fly open. Bright hospital lights blind me as they rush Noah inside. I stay glued to his side, answering every question the doctors throw at me because I know his medical history better than he does. Stress-induced cardiomyopathy, they call it. Too many all-nighters, too much pressure, and too little care for