Novel-novel oleh Jazzielyn Chow

23:00 – A pub in Westminster.The place was lively, as it always was on a Friday night. Glasses clinked, low laughter spilled out in waves, and somewhere in the corner, someone was butchering Oasis on the karaoke mic.Ashton sat at the far end of the bar, nursing a glass of scotch, the amber liquid catching the light each time he swirled it. The tie was gone, the sleeves rolled up, and the second button of his dress shirt undone. His hair, once neatly styled, had relaxed into loose, slightly disheveled waves—evidence of the long day behind him.Next to him, taking up a lot more space on the barstool, was Adeyomi Goodorally—his colleague and, on most days, the only person who could get more than a grunt or two out of Ashton when work wasn't involved.Adeyomi was built like a fortress—broad shoulders, carved biceps, and hands the size of dinner plates. His skin was a flawless, deep mahogany, catching a sleek sheen under the golden lights. A former national-level footballer back in Niger

The morning sun cast a warm glow over Auburn University's campus, illuminating its sprawling grounds where students hurried along pathways lined with blooming dogwoods and towering oaks. At the heart of the university stood the main administrative building—an imposing structure with a striking resemblance to the iconic British Parliament.Yet, where the Parliament's historic Gothic spires and ornate detailing spoke of centuries past, Auburn's counterpart was a confident reimagination. Sleek glass panels reflected the sky alongside limestone pillars, and a gracefully curved façade blended traditional architectural lines with contemporary minimalism. Intricate arches framed the entrances, but above them, digital banners displayed the day's announcements in vibrant color, seamlessly merging past and present.Clusters of students gathered around the wide plaza at the front, where interactive digital boards rose like modern sentinels. These high-resolution touchscreens displayed dynamic, 3

Present Day – Hammersmith, London07:12 a.m.The morning light was soft—too soft for the kind of weight sitting in her chest.Alexis stirred beneath the cream cotton sheets, her lashes fluttering as the last remnants of the dream clung to her like morning fog. Her breaths came fast, uneven, as though she had been running... or fighting.Her eyes blinked open slowly to the familiar sight of her childhood bedroom—walls painted in muted sage, a tall window cracked open just slightly to let the breeze in, the soft creak of floorboards in the hallway beyond. The shelves still held the books she loved in school, her old ballet shoes hung on a hook beside the door. Everything was safe.But her body didn't feel safe.Her heart pounded, and her throat was dry.And her arm—Alexis slowly sat up, pushing her tangled red hair back over her shoulder. She looked down at her right wrist, expecting it to be bare, normal. But her skin tingled. Burned, almost.The memory was too vivid to have been just

Flashback: 2023California. 3:45 a.m. A modest studio apartment in Pasadena. The world outside was asleep—bathed in quiet, broken only by the occasional passing car and the steady tick of the ceiling fan above. The room was dim, soaked in a soft, amber hue from a streetlamp just beyond the window.Alexis blinked awake, her body stirring against the cool sheets of a king-sized bed. Her breathing was shallow, heart unsettled by a sharp, mechanical noise slicing through the silence.Beep. Beep. Beep.Not hers.She rolled toward the edge of the bed and saw the faint light of a screen pulsing from beneath a rumpled gray T-shirt on the floor. The sound kept going—persistent, urgent.The phone wasn't hers. It was his.Steve.Lying beside her, Steve Adams breathed steadily, still wrapped in sleep. His arm was sprawled across the bed, close to where her waist had been, his face turned toward her on the pillow. His sandy blonde hair was tousled, his mouth slightly parted. He looked harmless. F

PrologueThe university corridors were unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon. The usual hum of idle chatter and the occasional slam of lockers were absent, swallowed by an uneasy silence that settled like fog over the building. All she could hear now was the rhythmic, crisp clack of her leather heels echoing off the polished linoleum. Each step she took sounded louder than the last, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.Alexis Wood adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag, the weight of it grounding her as much as the thoughts whirling in her mind. Life had changed so rapidly.Just two years ago, she had been in London—lecturing in old brick buildings, surrounded by drizzle, familiarity, and quiet sophistication. Now she found herself halfway across the world, navigating American academia, where smiles were broader, greetings louder, and ambition ever so hungry. The cultural shift had been seismic. But she had adapted. She always did.Her published research had turned