Novels by Yuna

Rain drummed a steady, rhythmic beat against the bedroom window, waking me before the morning alarm.I lay in the quiet dimness of our apartment, listening to the soft sounds of the city waking up. Joel was still asleep beside me, his breathing deep and even. Down the hall, the baby monitor remained perfectly silent. Clara was sleeping through the storm.I slipped out of bed, pulling a thick robe over my shoulders. I walked into the kitchen and poured a glass of water.It had been four days since the meeting at the Harlow Institute.For four days, Dr. Reeves and Dr. Hughes had worked in absolute secrecy, compiling decades of cellular tracking data into a comprehensive, irrefutable medical paper. They mapped the T-cell mutation, proving unequivocally that the biological marker was an immunity shield, preventing the autoimmune disorder from ever returning.William Carr had utilized every contact in his vast professional network to secure a meeting with the editorial board of the Nationa

The air inside the Harlow Institute always smelled of clean linen and mild antiseptic.Joel and I walked through the pale stone corridors with purposeful strides. We did not stop at the reception desk. Joel used his faculty badge to bypass the waiting areas, guiding us directly toward Dr. Reeves’s private office in the research wing.When we entered, Dr. Reeves was sitting at her desk, reviewing a dense stack of physical files. She looked up over the rim of her glasses, unsurprised by our sudden arrival. Joel had sent her a brief, encrypted message on the drive over."Close the door," Dr. Reeves instructed.Joel shut the door, sealing the room. We sat in the two chairs facing her desk."Vanguard Therapeutics," Dr. Reeves said, stating the name with absolute disdain. "A corporation built on prioritizing profit margins over patient outcomes. What exactly do they believe they have found in my trial data?""They believe the marrow suppression cure causes delayed cellular degradation," I e

Nobody spoke for a full minute after Jeremy delivered his confession.The words hung in the air, chilling the room. Vanguard Therapeutics was not just hunting for a patent. They were looking for a fatal flaw in the Harlow Institute trials. They wanted to prove that the experimental treatment which saved my life—the treatment flowing through my veins—was inherently defective.I looked at Jeremy. He stood near the door, his shoulders slumped, waiting for the anger he believed he deserved."What exactly did Vanguard ask you to find?" I asked. My voice was very calm, devoid of the panic that was currently fighting to take root in my chest."They did not give me medical terminology, Harper," Jeremy whispered, his eyes fixed on the floor. "The corporate liaison only told me they needed the long-term cellular tracking files for the original survivors. He said their research division believed the marrow suppression cure had a delayed degradation effect. He said they needed the data to prove t

Monday morning arrived with a quiet, tense certainty.The email from Vanguard’s legal team arrived at exactly seven thirty. The emergency injunction was formally withdrawn. The patent claim was permanently dropped. The Robert Wells Diagnostic Center opened its doors on schedule, processing the vital blood panels for the waiting patients.We had saved the clinic. We had protected the foundation.But the celebration inside my office was muted. The shadow of Richard Vance’s parting words hung over the room like a dark cloud.Audrey stood by the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Joel sat on the edge of the sofa, reviewing the access logs on a digital tablet. I sat at my desk, staring blankly at the polished wood surface."Who had access to the precise biochemical mapping?" I asked, breaking the silence. "Dr. Hughes built the algorithms at his university. He brought them to the foundation on an encrypted drive.""Only five people had the administrative clearance to view the

The lobby of the Carr Communications building was deserted on Sunday morning.The usual hum of corporate activity was absent, leaving the expansive marble floor feeling vast and quiet. I stood near the glass entrance doors, watching the winter sky turn a pale, frosty blue. Joel stood beside me, his hand resting reassuringly on the small of my back.At exactly five minutes before eight o'clock, a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb.A tall man stepped out of the vehicle. He wore a pristine charcoal suit, a dark cashmere overcoat, and an expression of supreme, unbothered arrogance. He did not look like a man who had been summoned to a hostile meeting on a holiday weekend. He looked like a man who believed he owned the pavement he walked on.This was Richard Vance.He entered the lobby, his leather shoes clicking sharply against the marble. Arthur, the security guard, checked his identification with professional detachment and directed him toward the elevators.Joel and I followed

Dawn broke over the city, casting a pale light through the tall windows of the boardroom.William Carr stood at the head of the polished wooden table. He had just offered to sacrifice his firm, his reputation, and his freedom to save the Robert Wells Diagnostic Center. He looked at my father. He looked at me. His posture was rigid, anchored by a choice he had spent over two decades waiting to make.The silence in the room was profound. No one moved. The glowing computer monitors illuminated the shocked faces of Samuel Briggs and Jessica Howell on the video conference screen."I am not making that mistake again," William repeated. His voice was a low, steady rumble in the quiet room. "The foundation is more important than Carr Communications. We submit the evidence. We keep the clinic doors open."My father took a step toward him. "William, if you submit a document with your forged signature, the federal authorities will not care about a proxy clause. They will freeze your assets by Tu