Novels by Perfect Berries

Michael’s Point of ViewThe silence of early morning wasn’t peaceful—it was a suspended breath. One that hadn’t decided whether to sigh in relief or brace for a scream.Danielle had fallen asleep beside me on the couch sometime after 3 a.m., her head resting lightly against my shoulder, the soft weight of her presence anchoring me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. Her hand still clutched mine like she feared letting go would shatter everything we’d just begun to piece together.I didn’t move. Not because I was afraid of waking her, but because I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to disturb this rare moment of stillness—of trust.The city outside our window had started to stir, orange light bleeding through the blinds, casting gold across her cheekbones. Even in sleep, there was something strong in her expression. Something that reminded me of the girl who’d stormed into my life demanding answers I didn’t want to give, and the woman who now sat in silence, holding me accountable with ju

Danielle's Point of ViewThe night had softened into a heavy silence, the kind that made your thoughts louder. We were holed up in a safehouse Michael must have used before—clean, cold, and stripped of comfort. The furniture was minimal, the walls concrete, and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and something older, like time sealed behind closed doors.Michael sat on the couch, his shirt half unbuttoned, the makeshift bandage soaked in crimson. His posture was tight, not from pride, but pain. He didn’t complain. He never did. But the tremor in his fingers and the sharp edge in his breath gave him away.I moved closer with the first-aid kit. He didn’t look at me. Just stared at the floor, jaw clenched. I knelt beside him and unwrapped the soaked fabric, the blood sticky and warm on my hands. The cut was worse than I remembered—deep and angry, red pulsing around the edges."Hold still," I whispered, even though he hadn’t moved.He nodded once, barely.I cleaned the wound, each swipe

Danielle’s Point of ViewThe house felt different after Michael’s promise.Not safer.Just... sharper.Like the walls themselves were waiting for the first crack to splinter wide open.I stood by the fire, the low flames casting long, distorted shadows across the library walls. My arms were wrapped tight across my chest, as if holding myself together would stop the unraveling happening inside.Michael leaned against the doorway, silent, watching.Always watching.I didn’t ask if he meant it—that vow of no more lies.Some part of me already knew he did.But trust wasn’t a switch I could flip.It had to be earned.And tonight, something inside me braced for the test.He pushed off the wall and crossed the room in a few easy strides, the movement casual, but his jaw set hard enough to crack stone."They’re moving," he said.My hands tightened around my arms. "Who?"He stopped just short of me, the firelight flickering in his eyes. "Oliver’s people. They made contact with someone inside H

Danielle’s Point of ViewThe moon was high when we finally left the abandoned studio, our footsteps silent on the cobblestone paths that led back to the estate. The night air clung to my skin, thick with the scent of rain that hadn’t yet fallen, heavy with promises that hadn't yet broken.Michael walked beside me, close enough that the back of his hand brushed mine with every step, but neither of us rushed the space between us. We didn’t need to. The silence now was different—no longer a battlefield, but a quiet surrender.When we reached the house, he opened the door and waited for me to step inside first. His small gestures—so easy to miss, so heavy with meaning—tightened something in my chest.I kicked off my heels in the entryway, the cool marble stealing the heat from my soles. He watched me, a faint smirk ghosting over his lips like he couldn’t believe I was really there, like he didn’t dare.Neither of us said a word as we made our way upstairs.The bedroom was dim, lit only by

Danielle’s Point of ViewThe day slipped by in a blur of muted colors and restless thoughts. I stood by the windowsill, the city breathing beneath me, alive and unconcerned, while inside my chest everything churned.Michael's words from the morning clung to me like a second skin. "Maybe it's time we stopped running." Easy to say when you’ve always known how to win. Harder when every step forward felt like walking blindfolded through a minefield.Behind me, the low rumble of his voice drifted through the crack in the study door. He was on another call, his tone clipped, dangerous. Whatever he was plotting, it bore the weight of finality.I leaned my forehead against the glass, the cold biting into my skin. How did we get here? Two people who once needed each other for survival now needing each other for something much messier. Something without rules or contracts to guide us.The door creaked open. His footsteps were unhurried, but there was tension in the air, coiling tighter with eve

Danielle's Point of ViewThe silence stretched between us, thick and unspoken, the kind that settles after truths are revealed but not yet accepted. I stood at the edge of the terrace, the wind pulling at my dress like it, too, wanted me to leave. The city below shimmered, indifferent to my unraveling.Behind me, I could feel Michael's presence before he spoke. He hadn’t moved since I’d walked away from him. His restraint was unsettling, like a lion choosing not to pounce."You're not going to say anything?" I asked, my voice low, carrying a tremble I couldn't hide."What would you like me to say?" he replied, and even in its softness, his voice scraped against me.I turned slowly. The glow from inside the house cast shadows across his face, sculpting the hardness of his jaw, the fatigue around his eyes."That it wasn’t real. That you didn’t mean it. That it was just strategy again."He exhaled through his nose, a slow drag of breath. "If I said that, would it make it easier for you t