Novels by Luwaa

The service door clicked shut behind her. Serena leaned back against the cool wood for half a second, heart still thrashing against her ribs like it wanted out, then forced her legs to move. She didn’t look back. The ghost of Julian’s arms was still warm around her waist, the solid thump of his heart still under her palms, and every step away from that felt like tearing something open. Outside, Damien remained motionless on the edge of the service road. Julian hadn’t moved either. The two men faced each other across ten feet of packed dirt and weak yellow light from the security lamp. Damien’s eyes tracked every detail with that same cataloguing he’d used on the bruises earlier: the dirt under the new gardener’s nails, the way his shoulders sat under the worn work jacket, the faint stillness of a man who had just had his hands on something that didn’t belong to him. The image of Serena leaning into that chest, shoulders dropping for the first time in months, kept replaying behin

The service road stretched out in front of her, the security lamp throwing a weak yellow pool that barely reached the tree line. Serena’s boots made almost no sound on the packed dirt. The kitchen knife sat heavy against her ankle, the handle pressing into the soft skin just above her boot every time she took a step. Her heart was still slamming from the risk of leaving the house at all, but the second she saw the figure step out of the shadows, everything inside her locked up tight. Julian. Three years. Three fucking years since she’d last seen that face, and still her body knew him before her brain caught up. Same lean frame under the worn work jacket. Same dark hair a little too long, curling at the nape like he never bothered with a proper cut. Same hands shoved in his pockets, dirt under the nails the way it always used to be when he’d been working outside all day. And that smile the one that used to make her stomach flip and her temper spike in the same breath. “Hey, Seren

The morning light cut through the curtains like a blade, and Serena hadn’t slept a fucking second. She sat on the edge of the bed with her back straight and her hands loose in her lap, the unknown number’s last message still looping in her head. All of it sat in her chest like wet concrete. She could stop.She could burn the photos on her phone, forget the shipping logs, forget the letter E and Salvatore’s personal code and the fourteenth and the east warehouse. She could smile at breakfast, keep her head down, let Damien’s quiet threats and Vanessa’s careful eyes keep her breathing until the higher authority swept through and left nothing but empty rooms and clean bloodstains. Or she could keep digging until the house swallowed her whole. Her phone stayed under the mattress. The knife stayed in the drawer. She dressed in dark jeans and a soft black sweater that covered the new bruise on her arm, covered the old one on her throat, covered everything that mattered. Makeup did the r

The night stretched like a live wire under Serena’s skin. She sat on the edge of the bed in the dark, phone face down on the mattress beside her, the unknown number’s last message still burning behind her eyes. The house never truly slept. Footsteps drifted past her door every twenty minutes. A car engine growled once on the service road and cut out. Somewhere downstairs a door closed . Lucas’s trap was live, and the whole goddamn place knew it. She didn’t move. Vanessa’s warning sat in her chest like a stone. The west wing service door would be unlocked by now. Two of Lucas’s men waiting just inside, ready to grab whatever curious little mouse wandered too close. Serena pressed her thighs together and forced her breathing slow. The memory of Damien’s mouth on hers kept sliding back in anyway the scrape of his split knuckles, the hard line of him against her hip, the rough order that he wouldn’t fuck her against a door while half the house was still awake. God, she’d wanted him to.

Serena lay awake long after the house had settled into its usual silence, the memory of Damien’s mouth on hers looping through her head like a fever she couldn’t break. The kiss hadn’t been soft. His hand in her hair, the rough scrape of his split knuckles against her cheek, the way his body had pressed hers back against the library door until the wood dug into her spine. She could still taste him. Still feel the hard line of his cock against her hip for that single second before he’d broken away and told her he wouldn’t fuck her against a door while half the house was still awake. God, she’d wanted him to. She pressed her thighs together under the sheets and shut her eyes, replaying the low rasp of his voice. By the time grey light leaked through the curtains she had slept maybe two hours, and even those had been full of the warehouse warning and the sound of Damien’s voice promising to keep her alive even if it killed him. She dressed up, covering the bruise with heavier ma

Serena sat on the edge of the bed long after the unknown number’s last message had gone dark, the phone screen still warm against her palm. Stay away from the east warehouse next week. The words sat in her chest like a swallowed stone. She had no idea what the east warehouse even was. Something industrial on the far side of the estate grounds, half hidden behind the old olive trees and the service road that only the men used after dark. She’d heard Salvatore mention it once in passing short shipments, temporary storage, the kind of place where crates arrived without paperwork and left the same way. But that was all. Just a vague shape in the distance and now a warning that felt heavier than any threat Donato had ever delivered to her face. She typed and deleted three different replies before she finally locked the phone and shoved it under the pillow. Asking more questions would only prove she was listening. And whoever this person was, they already knew too much about her. By m