Novels by Favyrian

Aveline RousseauThe word hit the boardroom like a heavy iron weight dropping through thin glass.Dead.A collective, horrified gasp rippled through the fourteen directors seated around the dark mahogany table. The room, already stifling with corporate animosity, instantly turned to ice. Air left my lungs in a sharp, ragged snare as I stared at the speakerphone in the center of the polished wood, the motionless line buzzing like a swarm of dying wasps.Esmond was dead.The boy who had brought me rare orchids from his travels, who laughed too loud at formal galas, who had fled his own wedding only hours ago with a short, cryptic note gone.At the head of the table, Henri-Pierre didn't scream. He didn't drop his ivory-handled cane. He simply froze, his sharp hazel eyes wide behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his thin lips parted in a silent, monstrous O. For the first time since I had met the formidable patriarch of the Delacroix empire, the terrifying mask of absolute control shattered, l

Aveline RousseauThe wax-sealed envelope felt heavier than lead in my hands.Outside the Maybach’s reinforced glass, snow swirled like gray ash across the highway, blurring the frozen pine trees lining the route to Montreal. Inside, the quiet was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic purr of the engine and the sound of my own erratic breathing.The person who signed off on those fake Cayman transfers... was the man sitting right beside you in your dressing room."No," I whispered, the word barely a breath against the cold leather interior. My thumb pressed into the hard red wax, my heart hammering a frantic, agonizing rhythm against my ribs. "No, Zephyrin. My father would never do that to me. He loves me. He... he sacrificed everything to keep our family afloat.""Desperate men do not act out of love, Aveline," Zephyrin said. He didn't offer a shoulder to cry on. He didn't reach out to comfort me. He simply sat there, a silent titan carved from shadow and stone, watching me face the r

Aveline RousseauThey are here for you,What?”My heart dropped into a dark, bottomless pit.The police.Zephyrin didn't let go of my hands. If anything, his grip tightened, his broad frame shifting just enough to block me from the view of the two hundred guests sitting in the grand conservatory. But the inaudible commotion at the heavy doors was already echoing off the vaulted stone ceiling.Suffocating gossip broke out like dry brush catching fire. Camera flashes exploded from the gallery balcony above, blinding and relentless."Zephyrin, what is happening?" I whispered, my voice trembling as panic surged through my veins. "Why would the police be here for me?""Keep your chin up and walk," he commanded softly, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that held me together by sheer force of will. "Do not answer any questions. Do not look at the press."Before I could process his words, he laced his long fingers through mine and pulled me down the altar steps. My heavy silk parad

Aveline RousseauYou will be marrying me."Marry you?"The words fell from my lips like stones scattering across concrete, rough and thick with disbelief. I stared at Zephyrin, searching his face for a hint of dark humor, a cruel frown, anything that would tell me this was a sick power play meant to mock my desperation.There was nothing. His face remained shaped from granite, his gray eyes steady, unblinking, and dangerously focused."You're out of your mind," I breathed, taking a sharp step backward until the back of my thigh hit the edge of the mahogany dressing table. "You think you can just step into your brother's place like a substitute actor in a play? This is a wedding, Zephyrin. It’s a legal contract. It’s my life.""It is a business merger wrapped in white silk," Zephyrin corrected, his voice so quiet, so deadly calm, that it made the air in the room feel instantly colder. He didn't close the distance between us, but his presence seemed to expand, filling every corner of th

Aveline RousseauThe lace running up my spine felt less like silk and more like chainmail.Outside the windows of the estate’s private suite, Quebec City was drowning in silence. Thick, heavy snow fell from the sky, blanketing the courtyards and ancient stone turrets of Old Quebec in a suffocating coat of white. It was still. It was a jarring contrast to the panic clawing its way through me."Hold your breath, Mademoiselle Rousseau," the seamstress muttered, her fingers crossed against my skin as she tugged the satin laces tighter.I inhaled sharply, my hands gripping the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turned numb. The oval mirror before me, reflected a stranger, one with storm-blue eyes filled with exhaustion, the kind that no amount of powder can disguise. I looked like a queen preparing to ascend a throne but in reality, I was a bargaining chip being offered up to pay off an empire's debts."It fits perfectly, Miss Rousseau " the seamstress whispered, stepping back with a