Novels by awfultendenc1

The office was shifting. I could feel it.For the past few weeks, I had been subtly exposing Lili, planting small seeds of doubt in our coworkers' minds. At first, they didn’t notice. They were too used to her sweet act, her innocent smile, her carefully crafted lies.But people weren’t stupid forever.Lili was starting to lose control of the narrative she had built so well.I could see it in the way some of our colleagues hesitated before believing her words, how they double-checked their emails when she gave them instructions, how they exchanged subtle looks whenever she made another “accidental” mistake that put me in a difficult position.She was unraveling, and she knew it.Today, her patience was running thin.“You know, Tasia,” Lili said as she leaned against my desk, smiling, “I was just talking to the manager about the quarterly report. He said it wasn’t quite right. Did you double-check the numbers?”I glanced up from my computer, already sensing her game.“Yes, I did,” I sa

The office was a battlefield, but no one else seemed to realize it except me.Lili had mastered the art of deception, wearing a mask so flawlessly that most people didn’t see the venom beneath her smile. But I did. I saw everything.She was careful, never outright cruel—at least not in ways that could be proven. Her attacks came in subtle jabs, small inconveniences that could be brushed off as mistakes, miscommunications, or even helpful corrections.But I wasn’t stupid.She was trying to make me look incompetent.And I refused to let her win.I walked into the office, the usual hum of conversation filling the space as people bustled around. The moment I stepped into my department, I felt eyes on me. Lili was already seated at her desk, scrolling through emails like she hadn’t been waiting for me to arrive just so she could start something.“Morning, Tasia,” she called out, her voice overly sweet.I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Morning, Lili.”Her eyes gleamed as she leaned back in

By the time I got home, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.The day had drained me—working with Lili had never been easy, but today she had gone out of her way to make things worse. The subtle sabotage, the carefully placed jabs, the way she pretended we were friends in front of everyone else—it all made my blood boil.But more than anything, it made me tired.I dropped my bag near the door and sighed, running a hand through my hair as I stepped into the living room.Asher was there.Seated on the couch, his tie loosened, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone. A glass of whiskey rested in his hand, half-finished. He looked up when I entered, his sharp gaze scanning my face.“You’re late,” he said simply.I let out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah.”I walked over and sank onto the couch across from him, stretching my legs out as the exhaustion settled deeper.Asher set his glass down, watching me. “Rough day?”I exhaled, nodding. “You could say that.”His brows furrowed sligh

Working with Lili was exactly what I expected—a nightmare in disguise.Since she was tasked with guiding me, she took every opportunity to make me look stupid.But in front of others?She played the role of the perfect friend.A concerned mentor. A supportive colleague. A helpful senior.She was so convincing that, if I didn’t know any better, I might have believed it.Except I did know better.Because behind the fake smiles, the soft reassurances, and the friendly tone—Lili was calculating.She knew exactly what she was doing.And so did I.It started small.On my second day, I had to submit my first report—a simple summary of the team's current projects. Claire had given me a rundown, and I had worked on it all morning, making sure it was polished and professional.I sent it in, confident that it was at least decent.But an hour later, Claire called me into her office.I barely had time to sit before she sighed, sliding a copy of my report across the desk.“This is… incomplete, Anas

The following days were a blur.Dinner with Asher’s family had left me drained, and the tension between us afterward had stretched on longer than I expected.Asher was cold.Not in a cruel way, but in a way that reminded me of how he was before we got comfortable with each other. He kept his distance, retreating behind that quiet wall of indifference.And I let him.Because I still didn’t understand what had happened that night with the roses.Or why he had been so angry.The memory of his voice—sharp, cutting—lingered in my mind.Who gave you the right to touch the garden?I had tried to bring it up in the car, but he had shut me out completely, as if the topic itself was forbidden.And because he refused to bring it up, I did too.Besides, as the days passed, the coldness between us gradually disappeared.At first, it was subtle.Small things.Like how he w

The car ride was tense.I hadn’t expected it to be any different, not after the way Asher shut me down this morning. But still, I had hoped that maybe, just maybe, we could talk.That maybe he would explain.That maybe I would understand.I turned my head slightly, glancing at him. His fingers were curled loosely around the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the road, his jaw set in that unreadable way he always had when he didn’t want to show what he was feeling.I hesitated for a moment, debating if I should try.Then, finally, I took a breath.“Asher.”He didn’t respond.I swallowed, shifting slightly in my seat. “About the flowers—”“We’re not talking about that.”His voice was calm. Cold. Final.I frowned. “But—”“I said no.”His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, his knuckles turning white.I stared at him, frustration bubbling in my chest. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry—”His jaw clenched.I stopped, realizing that if I kept pushing, I wouldn’t get anything.

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this.”Margot shoved a bundle of green onions into the cart like they’d personally offended her.I kept my eyes on the list in my hand, scanning for garlic. “It’s not that big of a deal.”“Oh, it’s a huge deal,” she shot back. “We are currently grocery shopping because you decided—based on advice from a man you’ve known for what, five minutes?—to cook for your emotionally-constipated husband who hasn’t been home in days.”I reached for a can of peeled tomatoes and dropped it into the cart. “He was just trying to help.”“Uh-huh. And now I’m elbow-deep in parsley because some mysterious café guy told you to ‘try differently.’”I smiled a little. “You remember exactly what he said.”“I remember nonsense when I hear it,” Margot muttered, adding basil to the cart anyway.I sighed. “Daniel wasn’t being preachy. He was being… decent. That’s rare.”She didn’t argue with that. Instead, she picked up a pack of pasta and raised an eyebrow. “Fettucine?”I nodded

Julian hadn’t come home in three days.He didn’t leave a note. No call. No apology. But then, he never did.I didn’t bother asking anymore. We were long past the point of pretending.The penthouse had been too quiet for too long. I had grown used to the hum of silence, but today it felt different. Heavy. Suffocating. It was the kind of silence that made you want to scream just to hear something human.So I left.No one stopped me. I didn’t need to explain where I was going—not that Julian would care. The elevator ride down felt like a slow descent into reality. One where I still existed, still breathed, still had the right to take up space.I wandered for a while, letting the city wrap around me in its usual blur of honking taxis and overheard conversations. Eventually, I found myself at that same little café, tucked between a bookstore and a shoe repair shop.The bell over the door chimed as I stepped inside.And there he was.Daniel.Sitting by the window again, a pencil in one hand

The next morning, I woke up feeling the same way I always did these days: heavy. It was as though lead had pooled in my chest overnight, weighing me down before I’d even had the chance to face the day. I stared at the ceiling for a few moments, letting the dim light filtering through the curtains wash over me. The silence of the penthouse made my ears ring. It was remarkable how loud nothingness could be.I sat up slowly, rubbing my temples before I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My toes brushed against the cool hardwood floor, and for a moment, I let myself stay like that—feet grounded, head bowed, trying to summon the strength to face another day.The memory of last night’s gala replayed in my mind like a cruel highlight reel. The forced smiles, the whispers behind our backs, Julian’s cold, detached presence by my side. And then that moment in the living room when I’d dared to ask him why he married me. His answer had been as cutting as it was predictable. “Because it was c

The car ride back to the penthouse was cloaked in an oppressive silence. The city lights blurred past the window as I stared out, my head resting against the cool glass. I could feel Julian’s presence beside me, distant yet heavy, like a storm cloud lingering on the horizon. He didn’t speak, and neither did I. What was there to say? We were two strangers bound by a contract, pretending to be a couple in love for the benefit of the world. The charade was exhausting, and tonight had drained me of whatever strength I had left. My gaze shifted slightly, catching his reflection in the window. He sat straight, his posture impeccable, his jaw set in that infuriatingly stern way that made him seem untouchable. His green eyes were fixed ahead, unreadable as always. I wondered what he was thinking. Did he feel the same suffocating weight I did? Or was he so detached that none of this affected him at all? The car pulled to a smooth stop in front of the building, and Julian was out before I coul

The ballroom was alive with the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. The Blackwood charity gala was everything I had expected it to be—grand, opulent, and utterly suffocating. Hundreds of guests in designer gowns and tailored suits drifted through the space, their movements as polished as the marble floors beneath their feet. It was a performance, a carefully orchestrated ballet of wealth and influence, and I was the reluctant dancer at its center. Julian’s hand rested lightly on my lower back as he guided me through the crowd, a gesture that looked intimate but was anything but. His touch was impersonal, like I was just another accessory to complement his perfectly tailored tuxedo. To these people, we were the perfect power couple, the Blackwoods in all their shining glory. But beneath the glittering facade, the cracks in our foundation were deep and irreparable. “Smile,” Julian murmured under his breath, his voice low enough that on

Elena I DIDN’T EXPECT him to come home before eight. Julian had a habit of disappearing into meetings that blurred into late nights, returning only after I’d stopped waiting up. So when I heard the lock click just past six, I nearly dropped my mascara wand. He stepped inside the penthouse like he always did—silent, assured, detached. But this time, he stopped in his tracks. I stood in the living room, already dressed for dinner. Black silk clung to me like quiet defiance. Earrings in, lipstick fresh, heels laced on. Not for him. Not even for the event. Just for me. For the version of me who still believed she had some control over how this story would unfold. His eyes flickered with something I couldn’t read. “You’re dressed,” he said, voice low with a hint of something sharp. I turned to face him, voice calm. “Callum mentioned the dinner.” His jaw twitched. “Callum,” he repeated, like the name alone offended him. I straightened my posture. I hated how small I felt when he lo

Daphne The air in the office was colder than I expected. Not just from the hum of the air conditioner, but from the weight of the man standing behind the desk. Zachary Moreau. He hadn’t changed much. Maybe a little older, his jaw a bit sharper, his confidence even more defined. He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my entire month’s rent, and yet it wasn’t the clothes that made him intimidating. It was the stillness. The kind that said he was used to being in control of everything around him. I tried to speak, but my throat felt dry. Ethan gave me a small smile before quietly slipping out of the room, leaving the two of us alone. The soft click of the door shutting behind him echoed louder than it should have. Zachary didn’t move at first. He just stood there, looking at me. And I could feel it, that recognition flickering in his eyes. It wasn’t confusion or curiosity. It was memory. He knew. He remembered. My pulse thundered in my ears as I gripped

Daphne My heel snapped somewhere between the twelfth and thirteenth rejection. It happened mid-step, the cheap leather strap giving out with a sharp crack that sent me stumbling. I caught myself on a lamppost and just stood there for a second, blinking at the broken shoe dangling from my foot like it was the last straw. Maybe it was. By the time I limped over to a nearby bench, my legs ached, my blouse clung to my back, and my stomach had been growling for hours. The city around me was still alive with noise, horns, footsteps, voices, but all of it felt like it was happening far away. I sank onto the bench, took off both heels, and placed them beside me. The concrete was hot even through my stockings. My feet throbbed. The folder I had been clutching all day slipped from my lap, spilling a few creased résumés onto the ground. I stared at them, then laughed softly to myself. The kind of laugh that did not really sound like laughter at all. I had spent the last three days wal

Daphne The air still smelled like smoke. It clung to my hair, my clothes, even the inside of my throat. I stood on the sidewalk with my apron still tied around my waist, staring at what used to be the bakery. Flames no longer licked the walls, but the windows were blackened and the air shimmered with heat. Steam hissed as firefighters sprayed the last stubborn embers. Someone beside me was crying. My co-worker, Lila, had her face buried in her hands. She was still wearing her flour-dusted uniform, mascara streaked down her cheeks. I reached for her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She shook under my touch. “I don’t know what we’re going to do,” she said, her voice breaking. I didn’t have an answer. The owner, Mr. Whitaker, stood a few feet away. He looked lost, the way a man does when everything he’s built just disappeared in front of him. His hands were covered in soot, his eyes glassy. When he finally looked at me, guilt flickered across his face. “Daphne,” he said sof

Daphne The next morning, I woke up to silence. No ringing alarm, no chatter from the apartment next door, no clinking dishes from the café downstairs. Just the sound of my own breathing and the faint hum of the refrigerator in the next room. My head still felt heavy, but it wasn’t from wine this time. It was from everything I had been trying not to think about. I had spent the night on the bathroom floor, drifting between crying and staring at the ceiling until my eyes burned. When the sun rose, something inside me hardened. I couldn’t keep sitting there, waiting for the world to decide what would happen to me. I was pregnant. And he deserved to know. It was a thought that terrified me even as I stood up and forced myself to get ready. The idea of facing Zachary Moreau—of standing in front of him and saying the words out loud—felt impossible. But so did doing nothing. I showered, dressed in my cleanest clothes, and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. My reflection in the mirror

Daphne The sound of running water filled the tiny bathroom, but it did nothing to drown out the sound of me retching. My hands gripped the sides of the sink as another wave of nausea rolled through me, sharp and relentless. I’d lost count of how many times I’d thrown up that morning. My eyes were red, my throat burned, and my knees trembled from how long I’d been standing here. When it finally stopped, I turned the faucet on higher and splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would somehow erase the sick feeling in my chest. It didn’t. The two pregnancy tests lay on the floor beside the trash can, their small screens glaring up at me like cruel little verdicts. Two pink lines. Both of them. I sank down onto the cool tile, hugging my knees to my chest as if I could make myself smaller, as if the walls might close in and hide me from what I’d just seen. This couldn’t be happening. It had been weeks since that night, long enough for the blur to fade into something that felt almo

Daphne The first thing I felt was pain. Not sharp, just a deep, throbbing ache that pulsed behind my eyes like an alarm I couldn’t turn off. My mouth was dry, my throat raw, and every sound in the room seemed louder than it should be. For a moment, I didn’t move. I just lay there, letting the unfamiliar softness beneath me register. This wasn’t my bed. My sheets weren’t silk. My apartment didn’t smell faintly of cologne and expensive wine. Something twisted in my stomach. I forced my eyes open. Light filtered through tall windows, pale and golden against the cream walls. A jacket hung over a chair, dark and perfectly tailored. Beside me, a white dress shirt lay half-crumpled on the floor. My heart began to race. Bits of the night started coming back in fragments, like pieces of a dream I wasn’t sure I wanted to remember. Music. Laughter. A glass in my hand that kept being refilled. Someone’s hand at the small of my back. A pair of dark eyes watching me like they already knew