Novel-novel oleh Nyen

Lena’s POV The house was too quiet. Not peaceful but accusing, the kind of quiet that pressed against my skin and whispered in every silence: you saw what you saw. I hadn’t even realised I was gripping the steering wheel so hard until my hands cramped. When I pulled into the driveway, my knuckles were white, my chest a knot of rage and grief that felt impossible to untangle. I couldn’t even look at the house without remembering Clara’s smile, her voice purring like she owned him, the hotel key glinting in her fingers. Trust. Once cracked, it never shines the same. I sat in the car until my body shook from holding it all in. Then I forced myself inside. ********** Eliana’s laughter floated down the hallway. She’d returned from her playdate, oblivious to the chaos her parents were choking on. For one terrible second, I wanted to collapse against her, to cry into her little pink backpack and tell her Mommy didn’t know how to hold things together anymore. But I couldn’t. She dese

Lena’s POV Trust is a strange thing. It can survive storms and betrayals, it can bend without breaking — until suddenly, in one sharp breath, you wonder if you ever had it at all. I kept replaying Dominic’s promise from that night: No more secrets. You’ll know everything. And for a few weeks, he held to it. He told me about the men he assigned to watch Clara’s movements, about the legal letters his lawyers sent, and about every time she tried to call. We were, for the first time in years, fighting side by side. And then the phone rang. It was nearly dusk. Eliana was at the neighbour’s for a playdate, the house so quiet I could hear the clock tick above the stove. I recognised Dominic’s assistant’s number. “Hello?” “Mrs. Black,” the young man’s voice was clipped, nervous. “I think you… I think you should come to the downtown hotel. The Royal Crest. Room 808.” “Why?” My stomach turned. A pause. “Just—come quickly. Before the press does.” The line went dead. For a moment I sto

Lena’s POV The house never felt smaller than on mornings like this — when the quiet stretched too long. I moved through the kitchen as if walking a tightrope, every step measured. Eliana’s drawings were still tacked to the fridge. A half-finished bowl of cereal sat on the counter from last night. The silver bracelet glittered in the drawer where I’d hidden it. “Mommy?” Eliana’s small voice cut through the room like a knife sharpening. She padded in, hair in a lazy tangle, Leo hugged to her chest. “Are you okay? You look like the moon.” I smiled because she needed me to smile. “I’m fine, love. Go pick a dress for today, okay? We promised we’d bake chocolate chip cookies later.” She beamed and ran off, and the ache in my chest eased for a fraction. God, children had the cruellest ability to make everything right and everything wrong at the same time. The phone buzzed on the counter. I almost dropped it. Dominic’s name flashed, then a text: Running late. Handle breakfast. Call me i

Lena’s POV The day had been ordinary—mundane, even. I’d folded laundry, reminded Eliana a dozen times to put her crayons back in the box, and prepped Dominic’s favourite pasta for dinner. For once, there had been a whisper of peace in our house, a calm I craved but never trusted. Until the doorbell rang. A courier stood there with a small pink box, wrapped in glittery paper with a satin bow tied perfectly on top. He smiled as if he’d just delivered joy itself. “For Eliana,” he said, reading the label. “Special delivery.” My stomach tightened. “Who’s it from?” He only shrugged. “No sender listed.” I signed, my hand trembling, and shut the door quickly. The box felt heavier than its size, like it carried a hidden weight. Eliana looked up from her crayons, her face lighting up. “A present! For me?” Her voice was full of wonder, innocent and unguarded, and my heart clenched. “Yes, baby. But Mommy needs to check first.” I carried it to the kitchen counter. The bow came undone to

Dominic’s POV The thing about ghosts—they don’t announce themselves. They slip in through the cracks, through a remembered perfume, through a hand brushing yours when it shouldn’t. Clara wasn’t just a woman from my past. She was a wound that had never fully scarred. I met her when I was twenty-four, too arrogant, angry, and determined to prove myself to the world—and to my father. She had walked into my life like fire, all red lips and sharper teeth. She wasn’t afraid of me. That’s what caught me first. Everyone else treated me like I was an extension of my father’s empire—Clara treated me like I was a challenge. And God help me, I liked being challenged back then. We met at a gala—one of those endless charity events my father used to launder his reputation. She wore black, sleek and understated, but her eyes cut through the crowd like a blade. I remember her leaning in, whispering, “You look like you’re about to suffocate. Want me to save you?” I should have walked away. Instea

Dominic’s POV The morning had been mercifully quiet. For once, the paperwork stacked on my desk felt manageable, almost mundane. I let the monotony steady me and distract me from dinner with Clara, from the venom laced behind her smile and the threats curled beneath her words. I’d almost convinced myself she was bluffing. Almost. The knock on my office door was too sharp to be one of my assistants. I didn’t bother to look up. “Come in.” The air shifted before I even raised my head. Perfume—heady, expensive, familiar. A ghost from a life I thought I’d buried. “Hello, Dominic.” Clara. She stepped into my office as though she owned the ground beneath her heels, her red dress a flare of fire against the muted tones of my office. Every line of her body screamed confidence, possession, intrusion. She didn’t ask permission to sit. She didn’t need to—not in her mind. “What the hell are you doing here?” My voice was low, dangerous. Clara crossed one leg over the other, the movement la