Novels by Starry X

Tabitha's POVI stood by the coat rack in Classroom 2B with my forehead pressed against the cold drywall, just trying to breathe without my ribs aching.Every single nerve in my body was frayed.Feral and criminally adjacent.That was the exact phrase the tabloid had used. Over and over, those four words bounced around in my skull like ping-pong balls. It didn't matter that I had graduated top of my class in college. It didn't matter that I had spent three years scrubbing Bradley's spotless floors, keeping my mouth shut, and playing the quiet, obedient little wallflower while his family treated me like an inconvenient stain on their pedigree.To the rest of the world, I was always going to be the dirty, starving orphan girl from Oakridge who stole apples and slept on a stained cot.At morning drop-off, I had to walk past three mothers huddled by the front double doors, whispering behind their designer iced coffees. Two of them looked away the second I made eye contact, but Mrs. Gable—

Bradley's POVThe headline hit my screen while I was taping my stick in the player's lounge, and I snapped the carbon shaft clean in half.The composite core splintered with an ugly crack, jagged black fibers jabbing straight into my palm. I barely felt the sting."I am going to put my bare hands through that blogger's goddamn neck," I snarled, pacing the rubber floor, staring down at the glowing screen on the bench.THE SHADOWS OF OAKRIDGE: CAN A 'TROUBLED' RUNAWAY REALLY MOTHER A NORWOOD HEIR?Underneath it, that grainy photograph of Tabitha at thirteen, huddled on the linoleum, looking like a starved, terrified stray. And beneath that, a sickening paragraph dissecting her childhood like she was a criminal on trial, questioning whether a girl from a group home had the mental stability to carry my baby."Brad, put the phone down before you break the bench too," Marcus said, his voice tense as he stepped into the lounge, shutting the door behind him."Call the PR desk," I demanded, th

Tabitha's POVI stared at the ceiling of the second-floor bedroom until the white plaster blurred into static.Whoever took me twelve years ago... they are still hunting down every single kid who was in Oakridge.Maya's hoarse, terrified whisper from yesterday felt like cold water dripping on the back of my neck. Over and over, my brain clawed at the gaps. Why us? Why that moldy, miserable brick building on the edge of town? We were just throwaway state kids sleeping two to a cot, wearing hand-me-down sneakers with holes in the soles. What the hell did anyone want with a bunch of orphans?Before she slipped out into the gray evening yesterday, I had grabbed Maya by both arms in the foyer, begging her for names, dates, anything solid.She had just shaken her head, pulling her jacket tight around herself like armor."Not yet, Tabby," she had warned, her eyes darting toward the street like she expected sniper sights on the doorframe. "I have to check two addresses first. I need to make s

Author's POVRachelle stubbed out another cigarette in the tray, her manicured nail digging into the edge of the bar until the acrylic cracked."Useless," she spat, watching the loading wheel on her terminal stutter and die for the fourth time.Every single pathway into Darlington's background was an iron wall. She had burned through another ten grand with a tracing firm in London, and all they had handed her was a polite, terrified refusal accompanied by a full refund. The man was a walking ghost—erased from public registries, scrubbed from corporate filings, protected by non-disclosure agreements that carried international treason clauses.Yet the silence itself was an answer.Nobody buries a name that deep unless they're running from an empire, Rachelle thought, a cold, hungry thrill curling in her gut. He isn't an interior designer. He isn't some harmless, eccentric friend playing chauffeur to a pregnant teacher. He is a fugitive in a coat, hiding in plain sight.And then, just as

Bradley's POV"I'm sending six tactical units to that brownstone right fucking now."I slammed my palms onto the desk, knocking over a stack of scouting reports. The wood groaned under my weight, my knuckles white, the adrenaline roaring so loud in my skull I could barely hear my own voice."Brad, shut up and sit down," Marcus snapped, stepping directly between me and the office door. He didn't flinch, even with my two-hundred-pound frame practically breathing down his throat. "You do that, and you torpedo every single inch of progress you've made with her over the last month.""Did you not hear what Ava just said?!" I roared, gesturing violently at my phone on the blotter. "Some ghost from her childhood just ambushed her on the street! Frank Miller was sniffing around her gate forty-eight hours ago, and now some random girl named Maya shows up out of thin air? How do we know this isn't another setup? How do we know she isn't wired, or working for Rachelle, or leading another pack of

Tabitha's POV"Get inside. Right now."I didn't wait for Darlington to make another move, and I didn't care about the icy tension crackling between him and Maya on the driveway. I grabbed Maya's sleeve with both hands and pulled her through the door of the brownstone, slamming it shut and throwing the deadbolt with a violent thud.The foyer was dead quiet.Maya stood on the floorboards, her shoulders hunched up to her ears, her boots dripping dirty slush onto the entry rug. She looked around like an animal shoved into a trap—taking in the exposed brick, the ceilings, the lighting. Her eyes darted toward the second-floor stairs, checking exits, checking corners."Fancy cage," she muttered under her breath, a bitter rasp to her voice. "Guess being married to a superstar has its perks.""Maya, shut up and sit down," I breathed, pressing a shaking palm against my ribs. My heart was hammering so fast I could feel the pulse drumming behind my temples. My daughter gave a frantic kick against