Novels by eclrgray

People ran for cover outside, and umbrellas opened as the clouds spat out their beads of water. But the two individuals in the dark alley were dancing in the rain. They held hands, swaying slowly, their eyes fixed on one another."We always meet on a rainy day," Serge said as he pulled her closer to him.Alice giggled. "You know I love the rain.""Dancing while the rain washed away the blood of our fallen men," Serge whispered.It wasn’t unusual for them to be in situations like this—somewhere they shouldn’t be, doing something they couldn’t explain. They were both the children of mafia leaders. Their families had been enemies for as long as either of them could remember, locked in a constant struggle to take control. Neither side had won, but that didn’t stop them from trying._________𝑭𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌Serge was pinned down on the cold ground with Alice on top of him, pointing her gun at his temple."You really shouldn't be so trusting," she sneered in his face. "The world is a da

They met in the most cliché of ways—City Hall, rainy Tuesday, too many umbrellas and not enough patience.Solemn wasn’t supposed to be in the room. She was an intern, technically. Assigned to the Mayor’s communications team to "gain experience and exposure.” The kind of line HR throws around when they want a pretty face in the background of press photos.But Solemn didn’t blend in.She had a habit of wearing black pencil skirts a bit too tight, heels a bit too high. She had this way of walking into a room like she already owned it and Mayor Nathaniel noticed.He noticed the first day. She was laughing in the hallway with a staffer, lips painted dark like wine, clipboard hugged to her chest. She looked up. Met his eyes.Didn’t look away.Most women did._____It didn’t happen overnight. No, Nathaniel had discipline. Years of it. Built up over election campaigns and backroom deals, smiling at donors he hated and kissing babies he couldn’t name.But Solemn?She cracked something in him.

The lecture hall smelled faintly of rain and wet pavement, the kind of damp chill that made people huddle into their jackets. Ezra stood at the front, nails painted a glossy black that caught the pale fluorescent light as he flipped through his notes. He wasn’t dressed like most guys in their third year, today it was a soft cream cardigan that slid just off one shoulder, a pleated skirt that skimmed mid-thigh, and sheer tights that made his legs look like they belonged in some perfume ad. The outfit was deliberate, and from the way his green eyes kept flicking toward the middle row, it was clear who it was for.Adrian sat there, pretending to be absorbed in his laptop screen, but his fingers were still on the same line of notes for the past five minutes. He kept telling himself to focus on Ezra’s presentation—but the way Ezra moved was a constant distraction. The way he leaned a little too far over the podium, voice dipping low at certain phrases, or the casual tug at his cardigan hem

Ayumi was never just a reader.Sure, that’s how it started—late nights spent devouring smuts like secrets meant only for her. She had a taste for twisted dynamics, beautiful filth, and writing that left bruises.That’s how she found Laxon.He wasn’t just a writer, he was a spellcaster. His stories felt like hands, undressing and claiming her between the lines. She commented. He replied. One thing led to another: private Docs, voice calls, shared moans. She became his muse.Until she wasn’t.Life got in the way. No drama, just distance. Still, something between them never fully faded.Then came Hades.New name, rising fast. Unlike Laxon’s silk, Hades carved his words in stone—brutal, raw, honest. She messaged him the night she found his thread:“Do you always write like you're trying to ruin someone?”“Only if they’re brave enough,” he shot back.Hades didn’t flirt, he challenged. Their chats were sharp, teasing, darkly intimate. He didn’t pull her in, he dared her. And Ayumi stepped c

She shouldn’t still be in the chapel. Not this late. Not alone. But Sister Eliana's guilt is a cage, and she kept locking herself back inside it. The white of her habit clung to her skin, damp with sweat and midnight heat. She was kneeling in front of the altar, again, praying so hard her voice trembled. Her eyes shut tight, hands clenched in prayer, rosary beads digging into her fingers until they left bruises. “Deliver me from temptation,” she whispered. “Deliver me from evil.” Sister Eliana's words moved silently across her lips like ghosts, asking forgiveness for thoughts she hadn’t even acted on yet. Thoughts of him. 𝘏𝘪𝘮. The one no one dared name. The one her mother superior told her not to dream about. The one whose name was purged from every holy book in the convent library. Sister Eliana begged God to take the thoughts away. He didn’t. --- The first time he appeared, she thought it was a trick of the candlelight. The second time, she thought it was her soul brea

Callum walked into a silent house.No hum of conversation. No clatter from the kitchen. Just the steady quiet of a home deep into the night. He shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto the back of a chair before heading down the hallway. Their son was asleep in the nursery, he could hear the soft, content sounds of baby breathing through the monitor. He moved past the nursery and stopped at the doorway of their bedroom. The door was open. Warm light from a dim lamp spilled across the floor. Irixiah was on the bed, one arm flung above her head, blanket pushed to her waist. Her dress clung to her chest, soaked through with milk.That sight had started messing with him days ago.The first time he’d really noticed was after a late feeding. He’d stood in the doorway, watching as she cradled their son against her bare chest, her robe half open. Her skin was flushed from sleep, hair messy, one breast exposed as their baby latched on greedily. The look on her face wasn’t sexual—it was soft,