Novels by Julia Davis

When I finally stumbled back to my room, my hands were still shaking. Only when the door closed behind me did the full weight of what I had done hit me.I bit him.My stomach twisted. Elliot would be furious. Maybe worse. He could punish me for challenging his dominance. He could destroy me.I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers and scrolled to Sienna’s name. But I remembered that she was still on her honeymoon, halfway across the world. She couldn’t help me.Desperation made my chest feel tight. Then I remembered Xavier’s words from weeks ago: "Call me if you ever need anything."With a shaking breath, I dialed his number.He picked up on the second ring. His voice sounded tired, “Liora?”“It’s me,” I whispered. “Can you… can you come get me?”For a heartbeat, I expected him to say no, to tell me he was busy or asleep. Instead, his voice changed, like he was suddenly alert, like my words had jolted him awake.“I’ll be there right away.”The call ended. I stood in the silence,

For a long, heavy moment, Elliot just stared at me. His eyes were dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling with a controlled rhythm. Then, as if waking from a spell, he stood abruptly.I sat frozen, the sudden chill in the room wrapping around me like chains.He dressed quickly, each movement was sharp and deliberate, like he couldn’t stand being near me a second longer. The warmth that had been in his eyes moments ago was gone, snuffed out as though it had never existed. In its place was the cold, distant Elliot who had once looked down on me like I was dirt beneath his boots.“I think you’ve forgotten your place Liora, you're getting carried away," he said finally, his voice flat, hard as stone.My throat tightened. “What do you mean?”“I’m not in love with you,” he said, buttoning his shirt without looking at me. “I don’t want your heart. I just need you for sex. Sometimes a man will do anything to get what he wants.”The words struck like claws to my chest. “Elliot…”“I'v

That evening, I sat on my narrow bed, staring at Elliot’s message again and again. "I won’t be able to see you tonight. Ariana is sleeping in my room." My chest tightened. No. Not tonight. Ariana would use that potion on him, trap him, bend his will using magic potions, and if she did, he would be lost to her forever. My hands covered my face. I couldn’t fight her openly. Not yet. But maybe… maybe I could stop him from letting her near him tonight. I bit my lip until it hurt as I unlocked my phone. I had the room to myself tonight because Nina had to go visit her family. My heart raced as I leaned back on the pillows, lifting my phone’s camera. My hair fell loose over one shoulder, my dress slipping low enough to show a hint of my collarbone, and cleavage. My cheeks burned as I snapped the picture. "Do you really want her in your room tonight, I typed slowly, when you could have me instead?" I stared at the words, then pressed send. Thinking of Ariana with that potion made

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Alpha Callan’s face, his gentle smile, his voice heavy with regret. A part of me felt happy knowing my father was a kind man, but at the same time, fear and worry twisted in my chest. Luna Sabrina and Ariana. Their voices still echoed in my head. What were they planning? And what if their plan was to hurt Elliot? He wasn’t always good to me, but even so, I didn’t want to see him harmed. Not like this. I had to find out the truth. I had to know what they were plotting. But until I was sure I was safe, I couldn’t reveal who I really was. When the first light of dawn came, I was already awake. Outside, the courtyard was alive with movement. Alpha Callan, Luna Sabrina, and their guards were getting ready to leave. I slipped out quietly, needing to see my father one more time before he was gone. I stood behind Ariana, Alpha Callan’s eyes found me. He gave me a small nod and a warm smile. I smiled back, and something soft

I quickly slipped away before I could be detected, my heart still racing from what I had overheard at Ariana’s door. As I made my way back to my room, I caught sight of someone sitting alone in the garden.It was Alpha Callan. He was seated on a stone bench, his posture heavy, his face half-shadowed by the moonlight. He looked so lost in thought that, for a moment, I hesitated. But if there was ever an opportunity to speak to him and see the kind of man he truly was, this was it. I braced myself, went to the kitchen for a cup of water, and walked slowly toward him. He blinked in surprise when he noticed me, as if waking from a long dream. “I thought you might need this,” I said softly, offering him the cup. Callan’s lips curved into a tired smile. “Thank you,” he murmured, accepting it. He studied me for a moment, his gaze almost apologetic. “About Ariana earlier… I want to apologize. She can be… difficult. I hope she hasn’t made you uncomfortable.” I shook my head quickly. “It’s

I stood frozen for a moment, staring at the man at the head of the table. Alpha Callan. He was taller than I imagined, broad shoulders filling out his dark suit like it was made for him alone. His hair was streaked with silver, not from weakness but from wisdom, and his sharp jaw carried the weight of authority. His presence pressed against the room like a tide, commanding, powerful, impossible to ignore. Every word he spoke seemed to demand respect, even before he finished saying it. My heart hammered. This man… my father. I almost forgot myself until Nina nudged me hard at the side. “Liora,” she whispered sharply. “Why are you standing there staring? Serve the food.” I blinked, forcing my hands to move. My tray wobbled slightly, but I steadied it, stepping forward. No one noticed me. They were all too lost in their conversation, even Elliot, who barely flicked a glance my way. Alpha Callan’s voice carried deep and certain. “How is your father doing, Elliot?” Elliot lowered hi

Gerrard drew in a breath. “About what happened in the past…” I lifted a hand gently, trying to spare him the weight of it. “Gerrard, you don’t have to...” “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Please. Let me clear this.” I nodded, quietly waiting. “I never stopped loving you,” he said. “Not for a second. Even after finding out the truth, about who you were, why you came, I was angry, yes. I was hurt, and I felt betrayed… but the love never left. When we found your father during the raid on the Santorini Syndicate, I… God, I just felt so much. I realized how much pain you carried all alone... I knew I couldn't blame you, you did what you had to to survive” He paused and took a breath, his voice catching a little. “But I was a coward. I couldn’t accept you, even though you accepted me, for all that I am.” My eyes brimmed before I could stop them. I opened my mouth to say something, but he kept going, his voice low and urgent. “And when you left, trust me, Annabelle, I wanted to hold

I stood at the edge of my kitchen floor, the polished tiles warm under my bare feet, and for a long, quiet moment, I just let myself feel it all. The clinking of glasses, the laughter floating in from the terrace, the soft jazz curling through the air like smoke. The scent of rosemary, butter, garlic, and slow-roasted dreams wrapped around me like an embrace. Rivera Cuisine. My restaurant. My soul. My home. Named after my father, Philip Rivera; the man who taught me how to peel garlic and how to stand tall in a room that tried to shrink me. I wanted his name to live on, not tied to sorrow, not as a footnote in someone else’s story, but as something that meant warmth, comfort, healing. Something beautiful. The sign outside caught the light just right, the gold cursive glowing softly against the evening. And inside, warm woods, soft lighting, clean lines. Nothing loud, nothing flashy, just honest, just me. I had done it. After a year of intense training at Le Cordon Bleu, lon

It had been a full year since I first walked into the Amari Grace Project building, nervous and unsure, with barely more than a suitcase and a cracked heart.Twelve months later, I was no longer the same woman.I had rebuilt myself, slowly, steadily. Piece by piece. No longer shaped by fear or control, but by freedom, by healing, and by choice.Therapy wasn’t easy. There were weeks I cried more than I slept, and moments I nearly walked out. But I stayed. And for once, I didn’t run.I learned how to breathe again. How to trust my own voice. How to say no without guilt. I began to dream, not for someone else, not to survive, but for myself.And somewhere in that journey, I found my passion again.Cooking.I had always loved it, the rhythm of it, the creativity, the way food could bring comfort when words failed. At the Grace Project, they noticed. I was encouraged to train, to explore it professionally.And I did.From catering the weekly women’s circles, to hosting community brunches,

That night, I went back to the hotel where I had stayed after Gerrard left me stranded on the roadside.Everything looked just the same, the dimly lit hallway, the soft hum of the air conditioner, the faint scent of old furniture and citrus-scented cleaner. But something inside me was different now.I curled into the unfamiliar sheets, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts spinning.For the first time, I saw my life for what it had been.I had never really lived for myself. I’d been passed from one man’s will to another, used, shaped, controlled. Bruno, Gerrard, Sammie. Even my father, in the quiet ways he’d taught me to shrink and please and stay silent.I had never truly owned my story.But now… I would start.A small, brave smile crept onto my face.And for the first time in a long while, I slept in peace.---The next morning, I woke early, my heart steady with quiet purpose.I opened my purse and pulled out the business card I had kept tucked away for months.Dante Amari.I stared

When I got home, I couldn’t find Sammie at first, but his car was parked out front. The house was quiet, too quiet. Eventually, I found him on the rooftop, standing by the edge, a glass in his hand. He was staring down at the city below, still and brooding. He must have seen me come in. Without turning, he spoke. “You went to see Gerrard, didn’t you?” I didn’t answer right away. The wind carried the scent of his drink, whiskey, sharp and bitter. He turned to face me, eyes dark with frustration. “I’m doing everything for you,” he said, his voice rising. “Everything. But no matter what I do, you keep crawling back to the man who threw you away.” I stood still, jaw clenched. “You embarrassed me today,” he snapped. “You said no. In front of everyone. After everything I’ve done for you. I gave you a home, safety, love. I’ve been patient, I’ve waited—God knows I’ve waited.” I still didn’t say a word. I was too angry, too disappointed to speak yet. He took a step closer, his tone

I decided to pick up the pieces of my life. It was slow, achingly slow, but every morning, I got up. I tried. I brushed my hair, sat by the window, and breathed. That was something. There wasn’t much to do, though. Sammie wouldn’t let me. He hovered constantly, wouldn't even let me cook for myself. He treated me like something delicate, something on the edge of breaking. I knew he meant well, and part of me appreciated it. But another part, tired, restless, grew irritated. I wasn’t fragile, I had been through fire. I could handle my own life, and yet, here I was, tiptoeing around someone else's version of care. One afternoon, Sammie came home looking lighter than I’d seen him in weeks. “I’ve wrapped up the business with Gerrard,” he said, grinning as he loosened his tie. “We’ll be heading back to Germany soon.” I forced a smile. “That’s good news.” He walked over and kissed my forehead. “We’ve done everything we needed to here. It’s time to start fresh.” But something in me re