Romans de Albetros

author's POVPetal stood near the steps of the stage, her fingers lightly clutching the edge of her gown as she waited for Sammy’s name to be called. The auditorium buzzed with excitement—camera flashes, murmured conversations, proud parents whispering blessings under their breath. The scent of fresh flowers and polished wood lingered in the air. Everything felt unreal, like a dream she was walking through slowly.Her own medal rested against her chest, cool and solid, reminding her that this moment was real.When the announcer finally called, “Samaira Smith,” Petal’s heart leapt.Sammy walked up confidently, though Petal could see the slight tremble in her steps. The principal smiled warmly as he handed Sammy her degree and placed the medal around her neck. Applause filled the hall again, loud and proud.Petal clapped with all her strength, tears gathering in her eyes. They had studied together. Stressed together. Cried before exams together. And now—They had made it.When Sammy cam

Author’s POVThe auditorium glowed beneath layers of white and gold.Soft chandeliers shimmered overhead, their light reflecting off polished marble floors. Marigold garlands framed the entrance, delicate fairy lights woven between them like quiet stars. The university emblem stood tall at the center of the stage, dignified and proud. Rows of neatly arranged chairs filled the hall—students in black graduation gowns seated together, parents positioned a few rows ahead, faculty aligned along the sides.The air carried excitement.And expectation.Petal Viotto sat beside Sammy, fingers lightly intertwined in her lap. Her black hair fell smoothly down her back beneath the graduation cap, a few loose strands brushing against her cheek. Her blue eyes, usually calm, were restless today.She wasn’t afraid of the stage.She had spoken before.She wasn’t afraid of applause.She had earned it.But something inside her felt unsettled.Maybe it was the weight of achievement.Maybe it was the aware

Author’s POVThe silence of the penthouse was the kind that pressed against the ears—expensive, immaculate, and lonely. Floor‑to‑ceiling glass walls reflected the city’s early morning glow, the skyline stretching endlessly like a kingdom he ruled from a distance. After the arguments with his parents, he had chosen this place over the family mansion. Not because it was more comfortable, but because distance felt safer.Sebastian had not visited his parents since that night. Voices had been raised, words had cut deeper than knives, and expectations had been thrown at him like chains. Yet, despite everything, he had not severed ties completely. Rebecca still called him—sometimes early in the morning, sometimes late at night. As a son, he refused to punish her for mistakes that were not entirely hers. He answered her calls, listened quietly, responded politely, never raising his voice. He would not become what they had been to him.Life in the penthouse ran on precision. The maid arrived

Author’s POVDays slipped into weeks, and the calendar pages turned quietly as Petal sat for her final graduation examinations. The exam hall, with its long wooden desks and murmuring silence, became her world for those few hours each day. Her pen moved steadily across the paper, answering questions she had prepared for with sleepless nights and silent prayers. To everyone watching her from the outside, she looked calm, focused, and composed. But inside, Petal was balancing an entire universe of fear, hope, and carefully hidden plans.Sebastian did not miss a single day.No matter how busy his schedule was, no matter how many enemies he was crushing or how many meetings stretched late into the night, Petal always found a message from him waiting for her. A good morning before she left for college. A did you eat? in between exams. A call me when you reach home that she never dared to ignore. His voice, deep and commanding, wrapped around her like invisible chains—chains that were somet

The heavy wooden door of the cabin closed softly behind Mark, sealing the room in silence. Sebastian D’Angelo didn’t turn immediately. He remained standing near the tall glass windows, one hand resting in his pocket, the city sprawled beneath him like a living chessboard. Every light, every moving car, every shadow felt deliberate tonight—as if the world itself was waiting for a single move. “Take your seat, Mark.” His voice was calm. Too calm. Mark obeyed without question, straightening his coat as he sat across the massive desk. Years of working under Sebastian had trained him to recognize that tone. This wasn’t a routine discussion. This was the kind of meeting that changed trajectories. “Sir,” Mark began cautiously, “is there anything I can help you with? Did something go wrong with the project?” Sebastian finally turned, his sharp gaze locking onto Mark’s face. “Nothing is wrong with the project.” That should have been reassuring. It wasn’t. “Yes,” Sebastian continued, w

author's POV After talking with her mom, Petal quietly walked back to her room. Her heart felt heavy, her eyes swollen from holding back tears. The moment she closed the door, the silence around her grew louder than ever. She took her drawing book from the shelf and sat down near the window where the evening light gently touched her face. Petal opened the sketchbook to a blank white page.Petal’s hands shook as she clutched her pencil, tracing trembling lines across the untouched white sheet of her drawing book. Each stroke was uncertain, blurred by the endless stream of tears falling from her reddened eyes. The salty drops trickled down her cheeks, wetting the paper in scattered, translucent blotches that threatened to ruin her art—but she drew anyway, desperate for distraction, for release. The dim lamplight in her room cast gentle shadows over the page, reflecting the turmoil inside her. Why did she feel so lost? Why did Sebastian’s words sting more than usual tonight? Petal