Novels by zayniiie

Chapter 17Hannah's POVThe bass was thumping through the floorboards of Sarah’s Salcedo condo long before I even stepped off the elevator. When the doors opened, the hallway smelled like a mix of expensive perfume and cheap pizza—the universal scent of a Friday night well spent.​Inside, the transformation was complete. The "12th Floor Survivors" had officially shed their corporate skins. Ties were tied around foreheads, heels were kicked into a corner, and the air was thick with the kind of laughter that only happens when the boss isn't around.​"She’s here!" Sarah shrieked over the remix of a Dua Lipa track, waving a red solo cup in the air. She looked like she was three drinks ahead of the room. "The Queen of Velez has entered the building!"​I was immediately swarmed. Vince and a few of the other editors I used to work with huddled around, handing me a cold bottle of beer.​"Is it true Mateo Velez has a literal gold-plated espresso machine?" Vince asked, leaning in as if I were a

Chapter 16 Hannah's POV The shift from the high-stakes tension of the conference room to the quiet hum of my new workspace was a relief I hadn't expected. I needed to breathe, and I needed to survive. ​Mateo didn't ask for a war. When I walked into his office to finalize the paperwork, there were no maps of Luke’s weaknesses or plans to leak island footage. Instead, there was a clean desk and a stack of creative briefs for an international travel campaign. ​"I’m not hiring you to be a spy, Hannah," Mateo said, leaning back in his chair with a cup of coffee. "I’m hiring you because you’re the best editor I’ve seen in years. I want Velez International to look like the future, not a tabloid. You do your work, you get your paycheck, and you stay out of the crossfire. That’s the deal." ​"Thank you, Mateo," I said, the weight in my chest finally easing. "That’s all I’ve wanted since we got back. Peace." ​My first week at Velez was a blur of productivity. Without the suffocating "

Chapter 15 Hannah's POV The neon lights of BGC began to blur into long, jagged streaks of electric blue and violet. The music wasn't just something we heard anymore; it was a physical pulse vibrating through the soles of my feet and the glass in my hand. ​By the third round of drinks, the "no Cromwell" rule had been replaced by a chaotic, loud celebration of total recklessness. ​Sarah was currently standing on the plush velvet sofa, trying to teach a very uncoordinated Vince how to do a TikTok dance, her laughter ringing out over the heavy bass. Vince had lost his tie hours ago and was now wearing his dress shirt half-unbuttoned, looking like he’d finally deleted every spreadsheet in his brain. ​"I’m telling you!" Sarah shouted, swaying dangerously. "Hannah is... she’s the legend! To freedom!" She took another shot, slamming the small glass onto the table with a triumphant grin. ​Mateo was leaned back, his eyes glazed with a heavy, expensive kind of intoxication. He wasn't

Chapter 14Hannah's POVThe executive elevator chimed with a cold, digital finality as the doors slid open. The 40th floor was unnervingly quiet. Usually, there was the hum of high-level activity, but today, the workstations were abandoned. Luke had cleared the floor.​As I approached the double doors of his private suite, I realized they were slightly ajar. I stopped, my hand hovering near the wood, when I heard the low, gravelly timbre of an unfamiliar voice.​Through the gap in the door, I didn't see Luke alone. He was standing by his desk, his shoulders hunched, looking smaller than I had ever seen him. Across from him sat an old man with hair as white as parchment and a suit that looked older than the building itself. Beside him stood a younger man in a sharp, clinical grey suit, holding a leather-bound briefcase.​The Cromwell family lawyer and his head of legal counsel.​The old man, Atty. Arrieta, was speaking in a voice so low it was almost a whisper, but the weight of it see

Chapter 13Hannah's POVThe rest of the week was a masterclass in psychological warfare—conducted without a single spoken word.​By Thursday, the 40th floor was vibrating with a tension so thick the secretaries were afraid to cough. I maintained my "Silent Edit" with surgical precision. I didn't look at Luke when he walked past. I didn't acknowledge his sighs or the way he lingered at my desk. I simply worked, my noise-canceling headphones serving as my personal fortress.​Luke was unraveling. The "King" who thrived on being the center of gravity was finding out what it felt like to be a ghost in his own house.​On Friday, I decided to do something I hadn't done since moving to the 40th floor. I went down to the main cafeteria for lunch.​"You’re actually here!" Sarah squealed, waving me over to our usual corner table. Vince was already there, nursing a soda. "The 12th floor feels like a funeral home without you, Hannah."​"I missed the noise," I admitted, sitting down.​A few minutes

Chapter 12 Hannah's POV The transition to the 40th floor felt less like a promotion and more like being summoned to a high-security vault. While the 12th floor was a chaotic symphony of clicking keyboards and laughter, the executive level was silent, smelling of expensive air filtration and cold ambition. ​My new "workspace" was a glass-walled alcove directly outside Luke’s main office. It was a masterpiece of minimalist design—wood-and-black accents that matched the aesthetic I had always admired, but today, it felt like a cage. ​I arrived at exactly noon, my hard drives in one hand and a cup of black coffee with chia seeds in the other. I didn't look toward the heavy double doors of his office. I didn't scan the room for his shadow. I simply sat down, plugged in my equipment, and donned my noise-canceling headphones. ​I had decided: if he wanted me here as a "functional asset," that is exactly what he would get. ​Through the glass, I could see the movement of the 40th fl

Chapter 36 Leilani's POV The air in the BGC studio was thick with the scent of expensive espresso and the sharp, chemical tang of high-end hairspray. To, this wasn't just another task in a busy schedule; it was a strategic coronation. Every person in the room, from the lighting technicians to the creative directors, understood the gravity of the shoot. This was the moment they would bridge two worlds: the mysterious, brooding allure of the literary phenomenon L.L. Ni and the cold, unyielding power of the Parker heiress. ​As I sat in the makeup chair, I watched my reflection as the stylists worked with precision. They weren't just applying pigment; they were constructing armor. The girl who once wore a polyester waitress uniform was gone, replaced by a woman draped in structured silk and diamonds. I looked every bit the queen my fans imagined, but the iron in my gaze was meant for the boardroom, not just the back of a book cover. ​The creative director hovered nearby, adjusting

Chapter 35 ​Timothy’s POV ​The city of Makati looked like a graveyard of lights from the sixty-eighth floor. I didn’t turn on the lamps in my office; the blue glow from the three monitors on my desk was enough to see by. It was 2:00 AM on a Sunday, and I was exactly where I had been for the last three years: burying myself in a grave made of spreadsheets and acquisition contracts. ​"Sir? The cleaning crew is asking if they can—" ​"No," I barked, not even looking up. "Tell them to come back when the sun is up. And get out." ​My assistant, a man who had lasted longer than the previous five only because he knew how to move like a shadow, disappeared without a word. I knew what they called me downstairs. The Grump. The Ice King. The Beast of Beckett Industries. ​I didn't give a damn. ​Three years. ​I had poured millions into private investigators, tech specialists, and trackers. I had followed leads that ended in dead-end alleys in Singapore and empty apartments in Paris.

Chapter 34: Leilani's POV ​Sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford that night. My mind was a relentless engine, spinning through strategies and "what-if" scenarios until the silence of the Manor felt deafening. I had already finished my night routine, the cool weight of a facial mask pressed against my skin as I lay staring at the intricate crown molding of my ceiling. ​In the dark, everything felt sharper. The stakes. The secret. The inevitable collision. ​I had spent years building a fortress around the name L.L. Ni. To the world, I was a ghost—a collection of words and a signature on a contract. To Timothy, I was a missing prize. But as I peeled off the mask and massaged the remaining serum into my face, a new thought solidified in the quiet. ​It’s time to give them a face. ​I sat up, the moonlight spilling across the silk sheets. A book signing was a start, but I wanted more. I wanted an announcement that would echo through every boardroom and social club in Manila. I wante

Chapter 33: Leilani's POV ​The following days were surprisingly quiet, a fragile peace that felt like the eye of a storm. Zain was thriving. The initial shock of the Manila heat had faded, replaced by a fascination with the vibrant colors of the tropical garden and the constant attention from his doting grandparents. To watch him laugh as he chased a stray butterfly across the patio was the only thing that kept my frayed nerves from snapping. ​But the silence was deceptive. I knew that every hour I spent in hiding was an hour Timothy spent narrowing the search. ​On the fourth morning, as the sun began to burn through the early haze, I found my father on the veranda, nursing a cup of barako coffee. He looked peaceful, but I was about to shatter that tranquility. ​"Papa," I said, sitting across from him. "When can I be officially introduced?" ​My father nearly dropped his cup. He looked at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and sudden alarm. He hadn't expected me to

Chapter 32: Leilani's POV ​The heavy, humid air of Manila hit me the moment I stepped out of the pressurized cabin. It was a thick, familiar embrace—scented with jet fuel and the distant salt of the bay. It was the smell of a life I had buried three years ago, a scent that made my skin prickle with a mixture of nostalgia and pure, unadulterated dread. ​Beside me, Zain gripped my hand tight, his small fingers digging into my palm. He was wide-eyed, blinking against the harsh tropical sun streaming through the terminal windows. At three years old, his world had been defined by the cool, organized streets of London. This chaotic heat was a sensory assault he wasn't prepared for. ​"We’re almost there, baby," I whispered, smoothing back a stray lock of his dark hair. Even under his little baseball cap, the resemblance was enough to make my heart skip a jagged beat. Every day, his face became a clearer map of the man I was trying to forget. ​Navigating the airport felt like walking

Chapter 31 Leilani's POV The timeline had stretched, the seasons bleeding into one another until three years had quietly passed since that desperate flight from Manila. Those three years had transformed me. I was no longer the girl who arrived in the Alps with nothing but a secret and a suitcase; I was a woman with a degree from one of the most rigorous institutes in the world, a flourishing career, and a reason to wake up every morning. ​Zain was no longer a tiny infant. At two years old, he was a vibrant, walking reminder of the world I had left behind. ​"Mama! Look! Big boat!" ​I turned away from the balcony view of Lake Geneva, my heart performing that familiar, painful somersault. Running toward me with a wooden toy in his hand was my son. He was a whirlwind of energy, his laughter echoing against the high ceilings of the villa. ​I knelt to catch him, pulling his sturdy little body into a hug. As I pulled back to brush a dark, unruly lock of hair from his forehead, a