Novels by Angel

​The headache hit hard, pulling her back into consciousness piece by piece. ​Liana blinked groggily, her vision swimming in dark, heavy waves as she tried to force her eyes open. Everything ached, but the right side of her face hurt like hell—a sharp, throbbing agony centered on her cheekbone, a brutal reminder of the metal stall wall and the violent blow that had knocked her out completely. Her whole body felt heavy and leaden, trapped in a foggy haze as she tried to make sense of where she was. ​Then she felt the smooth, quiet movement beneath her. ​She was in a moving car. Panic instantly surged through her, her hands flying up to cover her chest, but she paused when she felt the heavy, dark suit jacket she was wrapped in. It smelled faintly of rain and expensive cedarwood, shielding her torn dress from the cold air conditioning. ​"Calm down." ​The voice rang out in the quiet space, low and steady. ​Julian slowed the car down slightly, turning his head to her in the dim

Liana turned her head slowly, her hazy gaze sweeping over the stranger sitting beside her.​He was well-dressed in a dark, tailored blazer, his silver watch gleaming under the purple strobe lights. His dark hair was combed back neatly, and he had a sharp jawline framed by stubble, carrying an air of subtle wealth.​But behind his warm, practiced smile, there was something in his eyes that felt just a little too calculating.​He looked at her empty glass, then back up at her face. "I'm Richard, by the way. And you look like someone who could use a refill."​Liana opened her mouth to automatically decline. The old, cautious part of her brain told her to stand up, walk away, and wait for Nina by the entrance. But as her eyes drifted to the melting ice at the bottom of her glass, a sudden wave of bitterness washed over her.​'Why not? ' she thought, a faint, reckless smirk touching her lips. Nothing in her life had gone right over the last two weeks anyway.​She had played by the r

Liana’s POV​Fourteen days.​Fourteen long, agonizing mornings of waking up before the sun, reaching out with cold, trembling fingers for her phone, and pulling down on the screen to refresh her inbox. And every single time, without fail, the same clean, empty white space stared back at her.​No interview invite. No polite rejection letter. Not even an automated confirmation that her email had landed in Marcus’s box.​In the beginning, Liana had held onto a fragile, desperate kind of hope. On day three, she convinced herself that Marcus was simply a busy man running the executive office of the largest design house in the country. On day seven, she reasoned that a formal pitch review naturally took time. But by the middle of the second week, the painful truth settled deep into her bones, heavy and suffocating.​Her email had been tossed straight into the digital trash pile. She had made an absolute fool of herself on wet grass, secured a black card out of Marcus’s sheer pity, and spe

Julian’s POV​"If we align our summer textile launch with Vance & Co.'s core aesthetics, the projected quarterly yield could easily—"​Julian stopped listening. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, letting the ice clink softly against the crystal as the executive across from him kept rambling.​He rarely showed up to these overhyped country club mixers, so his unexpected presence today had clearly thrown everyone into a frenzy. The representatives sitting with him at this private table on the clubhouse's elevated terrace were sweating through their designer suits, desperate to lock down a collaboration for his company's upcoming summer collection before he stood up to leave.​It was almost cute. Vance & Co. was the undisputed giant of the fashion and design industry in this country, so the aggressive kissing up was normal. But normal didn't make it any less boring.​When the guy reached what seemed like the climax of his tragic slide presentation, Julian simply set his glass down

​"Miss... Miss? Are you alright?"​A polite voice broke through the ringing in her ears, pulling Liana straight back to reality.​She opened her eyes, finding herself staring right up at Marcus, who was looking down at her like she was a bizarre puzzle he couldn't figure out. The small group of wealthy investors behind him had stopped talking completely, staring at her lying in the dirt like she had dropped out of the sky.​Liana scrambled to her feet so fast her knees nearly gave out again. She brushed frantically at her skirt, her face burning with heat.​"Ah... yes! Yes, I’m fine. Totally fine. Just... slippery grass!" she stammered out, forcing a quick, awkward smile.​Marcus stared at her for a second before giving a small, polite nod. "Right."​He turned back to his group, picking up right where he left off as if a grown woman hadn't just slid across the turf like a baseball player right beside them.​Liana stood there, completely frozen.​Her mind was screaming at her to run. W

​Liana moved quickly, practically power-walking through the wide corridors. She kept her chin up and her gaze fixed straight ahead, acting like she knew exactly where she was going, even as her pulse hammered in her throat. Her mind was spinning with a million questions at once.​Who was that guy? Where did he even come from?​He had spoken to her with this terrifying, suffocating authority—like he owned the entire building, the land it sat on, and every single soul inside it. How had he figured out so fast that she didn't belong? But what bothered her most, what sent a cold, prickly shiver down her spine, was his face. Those sharp grey eyes, the rigid jaw, the razor-clean line of his profile… why on earth did he seem so unnervingly familiar? It felt like a song she couldn't quite remember the lyrics to, a ghost of a memory hovering just out of reach at the very edge of her mind.​Up ahead, she spotted a heavy mahogany door. At this point, she didn't hesitate. She grabbed the handl