Novels by supremoAR

​"You look like you're about to murder someone, Damien. Or jump out of that window. Quite frankly, with the way you're pacing, I can't tell which one it'll be."​Dr. Julian Vance didn't look up from the sterile silver counter of his private laboratory in the 5th arrondissement. He was meticulously adjusting the settings on a high end thermal cycler, his laboratory coat pristine, his movements measured with the ease of an old Ivy League classmate who knew exactly how much weight the Monteverde name carried and exactly how little it impressed him.​"Just run the sequence, Julian," Damien commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that hadn't found its proper register in days.​Damien stopped his relentless pacing right in front of the floor to ceiling glass panel overlooking the foggy Parisian streets. He hadn't slept. The Tagalog words Ariana had thrown at his face in the pouring rain at the grocery store were still echoing in his skull, deafening and brutal.​'At sinabi din niyang ayaw

​The neon lights of La Grande Épicerie de Paris flickered through the heavy sheet of rain outside, casting long, fractured shadows across the covered entrance of the gourmet establishment. The air smelled of wet asphalt, damp wool, and the bitter, sharp ozone of a full-blown European thunderstorm. ​Damien Alaric Monteverde didn't move. He stood completely rigid under the concrete overhang, his hands buried deep inside the pockets of his tailored black coat, his eyes locked onto the glass sliding doors of the exit. The rain beat a frantic, chaotic rhythm against the pavement just inches from his leather boots, but his mind was dead silent. ​He was still breathing the same air the boy had just exhaled. His boy. His blood. ​"Sir," Mark spoke nervously from behind him, holding a large black umbrella that shook slightly against the wind. "We should return to the vehicle. The paparazzi—some of the local stringers who monitor the high-end districts—they might spot you standing out here li

​The Parisian rain had mutated from a gentle morning drizzle into a heavy, relentless downpour by late afternoon. Outside the glass paned facade of La Grande Épicerie de Paris, the high end gourmet supermarket nestled in the 7th arrondissement, the grey streets were blurred by a thick mist. Inside, the atmosphere was vastly different... warm, illuminated by soft amber lighting, and filled with the wealthy residents of the district selecting imported cheeses, fine wines, and organic fruits.​Damien walked through the spacious aisles with the silent, brooding intensity of a thundercloud.​He didn’t belong in a grocery store. He hadn’t stepped inside a commercial supermarket in over a decade. But for the past three days, since the chaotic night of the Grand Palais gala, his penthouse suite at the Plaza Athénée had felt like a cage. He had barely slept. His mind was a battlefield, playing the image of Ariana in that midnight-black gown on a continuous, maddening loop.​“I think you mistak

​The sound of shattering glass was entirely swallowed by the polite applause echoing through the grand exhibition hall. Champagne flowed, diamonds caught the light of a hundred crystal chandeliers, and the elite of Europe murmured in collective admiration as the guest of honor reached the foot of the marble staircase.​But for Damien Alaric Monteverde, the world had narrow-focused into a terrifying, suffocating point.​His boots ignored the puddle of expensive scotch soaking into the hem of his trousers. His eyes, normally cold and unyielding, were wide, strained, and filled with a manic, desperate light. The air in his lungs tasted like ash. Five years of absolute certainty—five years of clutching a framed, tear-stained sketch in a dark library, believing he had driven the only woman he ever loved to a watery grave—vanished in a single heartbeat.​"Damien..." Selene’s voice was a frantic, terrified hiss beside him. Her fingers dug into his arm, her manicured nails tearing at the exp

​The Grand Palais in Paris was a spectacle of glass, iron, and unforgiving opulence. Tonight, it housed the most prestigious international fashion gala of the decade—an event where billionaires, old-world royalty, and avant-garde visionaries collided under the flash of a thousand cameras.​Outside, a gentle Parisian rain slicked the cobblestone streets, reflecting the brilliant amber glow of the palace lights. Inside, the atmosphere was suffocatingly warm, thick with the scent of expensive champagne, vintage cologne, and the sharp, distinct hum of high-society gossip.​Damien Alaric Monteverde stood near the towering marble pillars of the main hall, entirely detached from the glamour surrounding him.​He looked as striking as he was lethal. His perfectly tailored black tuxedo clung to his broad, imposing frame with military precision. His dark hair was styled back, revealing the sharp, unyielding lines of a jaw that rarely moved to speak anymore. At thirty-two, he had lost the last tr

​The corporate world of Manila often whispered that Damien Alaric Monteverde had died the same year his wife vanished. The man who occupied the chief executive suite on the topmost floor of the Monteverde Corporation building was no longer human. He was an institution. A machine. Over the past five years, his empire had tripled in size, aggressively swallowing up competitors and expanding across the globe. He was wealthier, more powerful, and completely untouchable. He was also entirely dead inside.​“The acquisition papers for the European textile conglomerate are ready for your signature, Mr. Monteverde,” Mark spoke, his voice clipped and precise. Five years had aged the assistant, but his loyalty remained unshaken. He stepped into the sprawling office, placing a leather-bound folder on the mahogany desk.​Damien didn’t look up immediately. He was staring at a financial report on his tablet, his features sharp, angular, and devoid of any warmth. His hair was cut short, his black