Novels by Malika Swain

The sun was just peeking over the hills when Kade slammed the barn door open, the morning air biting against his sweat-soaked shirt. He’d already mucked three stalls, unloaded feed, and repaired a broken section of fencing before most of his crew even clocked in. He wasn’t sleeping much, hadn’t since that night. Since her. Every time he closed his damn eyes, he saw her—wide-eyed in that restaurant, Mason kneeling like a smug bastard, and her lips mouthing yes. It played on a loop. Her eyes finding his right before she said it. That single look—shattered him. He grunted, throwing another hay bale onto the stack with more force than needed. “You tryna kill yourself, boy?” Kade didn’t look up at the grizzled voice. Old Joe leaned against the stall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed beneath his faded cap. “I’m fine,” Kade muttered, wiping sweat off his brow. “Work needs doin’, I’m doin’ it.” Joe snorted. “Work don’t need a dead man doin’ it. And don’t feed me that bul

Aria’s POV Aria sat at her apartment, the weight of the world pressing down on her chest. The constant ring of her phone seemed more like an oppressive hum, vibrating in her bones. Another congratulatory message. Another person trying to squeeze their happiness into her already cluttered life. Her finger hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to respond. But nothing felt right anymore. Mason’s name—her fiancé—blinked on the screen, the words “Can’t wait to see you tonight, baby” making her feel nauseous instead of loved. The thought of their engagement should have made her heart flutter, but instead, it felt suffocating. “Is this what I wanted?” she thought, staring at her reflection in the mirror, her own eyes searching for something—anything—to give her an answer. She had never wanted the spotlight. She never asked for the town to gossip about her, to whisper about Mason’s proposal, to bombard her with questions abou

Aria hadn’t changed out of her oversized hoodie in three days. Her hair was a messy knot on top of her head, her glasses slipping down her nose as she paced the living room floor—again. The local paper sat mockingly on her kitchen counter. Front page. Right above the fold. “Dorsey Legacy Secures Small Town Royalty” Beneath the headline was a photo of Mason down on one knee, beaming like a man who’d just won the lottery. And next to him—her. Frozen, overwhelmed, saying yes before her mind had even caught up with her lips. Her smile was soft. Her eyes, glassy. Her hand rested on her chest, while Mason cradled her waist and leaned in for the kiss that stole her breath—and her freedom. She hadn’t read the article. She didn’t need to. The title said enough. Her stomach turned again, the same nauseous roll she’d felt that night. Say something. Say anything. But she didn’t.

Kade – The mirror stared back at him with a frown that matched his own. Kade tugged at the collar of his shirt, then tossed the navy button-down across his bed. Too stiff. Too formal. Not like he gave a damn how he looked tonight—except his mom would have something to say if he showed up in a wrinkled tee and his usual jeans. He settled on a charcoal henley, the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his forearms. Elaine Calloway appreciated effort, even if her son’s heart was in the wrong place tonight. The third Friday of every month, their standing dinner at The Hollow Hearth, a tradition carved from habit and healing. And tonight, he wanted to cancel more than he ever had before. Aria hadn’t answered his texts. Or his call. Not a single word since he’d left her place with Mason’s smug face burned into his skull. He’d checked his phone so often it should’ve cracked from wear. Maybe she was avoiding him. Maybe she was choosing Mason all o

Arias POV The print shop was still. The soft clack of the press echoed in the background, but it didn’t distract Aria from the way her chest tightened just being there. The place had once smelled like her childhood—ink, old wood, dust, and lavender oil her mother used to dab on the corners of the desk. Now it just smelled like wear and time. She walked in slow, arms crossed over her chest. Her dad looked up from the counter, wearing his tired navy apron and a shaky smile. The years had weighed down his shoulders, but his eyes—greyer now—lit up when he saw her. “Aria. Look at you.” “Just stopping by,” she said stiffly. “Brought you the supplier receipts Jamie asked me to drop off.” He took them, eyes lingering on her like he wanted to say something else. “You busy? Got a minute?” She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. She moved to perch on the edge of the old stool, posture rigid.

Arias POV “You think I didn’t notice?” Mason’s voice was too smooth, too measured, as he leaned against Aria’s kitchen counter, arms crossed like he owned the place. Like he owned her. “You changed your hours, screened my calls… and now what, you’re playing house with Calloway?” Aria blinked slowly, chest tight but face unreadable. “He helped me put furniture together. That’s it.” He chuckled, that low, smug sound that used to send shivers down her spine but now just made her stomach twist. “That’s how it starts, babe. Little favors. Next thing you know, he’s got you thinking he gives a damn.” He stepped closer, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “You know who really has your back.” She didn’t move, but her eyes locked on his, sharp and steady. “Do I?” Her voice was soft, but the bite underneath it could cut glass. “Because the last few months? You’ve been nothing but a fucking ghost, Mason.” His jaw twitched. Aria didn’t stop. “You want me to wait around like some