Novels by Mirage Sha

By the time I got home, my heart was still racing like crazy. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling, my mind replaying every second of that elevator moment- his voice, his stare, his scent. God, what was wrong with me? This man had me feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling. The thrill of it all… it was dangerous. Addictive. Wrong. And yet, I couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot. I threw my bag on the couch, microwaved the leftover pizza from two nights ago, and ate in silence — though my thoughts were anything but quiet. When I finally crawled into bed, the sheets smelled faintly of lavender and exhaustion. Sleep came fast and heavy. Then the alarm went off. I groaned, stretching my arm out to hit snooze. Just five more minutes. Then it hit me. The presentation. My eyes shot open. I sat up so fast my blanket flew off. “Oh my God, today’s the presentation!” Suddenly, I was a tornado, rushing into the bathroom, brushing my teeth while pulling my hair into a bun, nearly stabbing myse

I rush into the office like I’m being chased by the devil himself.Well, technically, I am, the devil in a tailored shirt with the first three buttons undone.My heart still thunders from that brief elevator ride with him. Alexander Bells. My boss. My ex-boyfriend’s father. The man who shouldn’t make my knees weak, but somehow does just by existing.I drop into my chair, trying to shake off the flush on my cheeks. Before I can even breathe, Lila appears, leaning on my desk with a mischievous grin and a chocolate bar in hand.“Why do you look like you just saw your crush?” she teases, breaking the chocolate in half. “You’re all pink and glowing. Spill, girl.”I force out a nervous laugh. “Who even gets a crush that fast? I only just started this job.”She snorts. “Mhm. Sure. Keep lying to yourself.”“I’m serious,” I say quickly, then lower my voice, pretending to wince. “It’s just my period. My face gets flushed like that sometimes.”Her expression softens. “Oh, girl, same! Mine gets a

“Hey, Aria,” my coworker, Lila, said, flashing a bright smile. “How are you finding our little world here so far?”I returned the smile. “Honestly? It’s great. I’m loving the new experience. It’s different, but in a good way. I feel like I’m actually learning something fresh every hour.”“That’s the spirit,” she said, sliding into the chair beside mine. We started talking about the manuscript reviews I was assigned earlier, character development, pacing, tone, all that fun stuff. She listened intently as I shared some of the writing projects I’d worked on before joining Voss Publishing.When I finished, her eyes widened a little. “Girl, you’re so talented, oh! I had no idea you’d done all that.”I laughed softly. “I’ve been around words for a while. They feel like home.”She leaned in a little, lowering her voice. “Speaking of home… Do you know what people call our boss outside this building?”I blinked. “No, what?”“The Cold Demon.”I raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”“Yes now!” she sa

The day I’d been waiting for.My first day as a writing intern.I could hardly believe it was happening- me, finally walking into a proper office. I’d never had a white-collar job before; my writing had always been behind a screen, in pajamas, fueled by caffeine. But today felt… different. It felt like a clean slate.I wore a crisp striped shirt tucked into a trendy pencil skirt, paired with nude pumps that gave me just the right height of confidence. My hair was pinned neatly, and a soft red gloss added a subtle glow to my lips.I paused in front of my mirror, taking a long look at the woman staring back. There was something new in her eyes, determination. Fire. I smiled.“I’m proud of you,” I whispered to my reflection before grabbing my bag and heading out.The ride to Voss Publishing was smooth. The city looked softer somehow, like it was cheering me on. When I finally stepped out of the taxi in front of the towering glass building, I had to take a deep breath.Okay, Aria. This is

The man who’d once terrified me with his silence. The man whose eyes could burn and freeze you in the same glance. Of all people in the world, it had to be him. He looked at me, those dark eyes glinting with something I couldn’t name. His lips curved in a knowing smirk. “Well,” he said slowly, voice low and smooth, “I didn’t expect to see you this soon.” My stomach twisted. Did he know? I straightened my shoulders. “Please, sir, don’t mix business with personal history.” “Oh?” he murmured, the smirk deepening. “So now you’re going to tell me how to run my business?” I swallowed hard, heart racing. This wasn’t how I imagined my comeback. Not even close. There was something in the way he stared at me- calm, assessing, almost predatory- that made my skin crawl. It wasn’t lust, not exactly. It was the way a man looked when he was used to control. But I refused to let it get to me. Whether he liked it or not, I was going to get this job. I straightened my shoulders and forced o

I woke up the next morning sore as hell, my body aching in places I couldn’t explain.The first thing that hit me was the silence, the kind that hums inside your head when you know something’s off.Then the next realization hit harder: I wasn’t home. I was in a hotel room.For a full minute, I just sat there, frozen, the white sheets tangled around me. My heart raced as flashes from last night tried to resurface: Ethan, his betrayal, Chrissy’s laughter, the taste of that burning drink.Then it came, like a film reel I didn’t want to see: being chased, the open door, the stranger with the towel, his voice warning me to leave. My stomach twisted. God, what did I do?There was a strange gap in my memory, like someone had cut out whole scenes from my night. I couldn’t tell who exactly the person I slept with, only that I woke up like this.Still dazed, I looked to the bedside table and saw a folded note.It read:“Don’t get drunk alone like you did last night. Not everyone is as gentle as

They called it “The Trial of the Decade.” Adrian Vale vs. The Truth. The courthouse steps were choked with reporters. Microphones thrust into every corner. Camera shutters blinking like bullets. Protesters held signs scrawled with phrases like “Justice for Lena” and “Mental Health Is Not a Weapon.” May stood beside John in a fitted black suit, baby strapped to her chest, Saint clutching her hand like a lifeline. She didn’t say a word to the reporters. Her silence screamed louder than a thousand interviews. Inside, the courtroom was stacked with the press, elite board members, federal agents, and curious public figures who once worshipped Adrian’s name. Now they waited to see if he’d fall. Adrian walked in with his usual arrogance. But something was different. His swagger had a limp. His smile cracked. His tailored suit, pristine—but his eyes? Nervous. Like a lion finally sensing the trap around its throat. The judge entered. “All rise.” The trial began. John took the stand

It was a rainy afternoon when they found it. The flash drive had been sitting in Lena’s favorite hardcover book — The Unbearable Lightness of Being — tucked between pages marked by a dried iris. May had been reading to the baby when the flower fell out, revealing the tiny silver device taped beneath. Saint, sitting nearby, had whispered, “That was her favorite one. She always said it reminded her of light in a dark room.” They plugged it into the encrypted laptop John had been using for their private investigation. A password prompt appeared. Five chances. John stared at the screen, then at Saint. “Do you remember anything Lena used to say a lot? Maybe something only you would know?” Saint furrowed his brows. “She used to sing to me every night. The same one. ‘You are my sunshine.’” May typed it in. Access granted. The folder opened like a locked coffin finally giving up its ghosts. Inside: • Scanned copies of wire transfers tied to shell companies in Switzerland, the Ca

The next evening.Smith always thought charm could buy him a clean slate. Even now, as he leaned into the camera for yet another podcast interview—hair perfectly styled, voice syrupy smooth—he smirked as if nothing could touch him. “I was misled,” he said, lips curled like a man auditioning for sympathy. “May played everyone. Even me. I mean, who hides a baby from her husband, right?” Across the city, in the Bells penthouse, May watched with quiet fury. The video played on mute. She didn’t need to hear the lies to feel them. Her phone pinged. A message from her lawyer: “Drop goes live in 5 minutes.” “Let him talk,” she murmured. John leaned over the couch, glancing at the paused video. “Last words before the plunge.” Exactly five minutes later, the internet exploded. An anonymous exposé hit every major blog, news site, and YouTube channel. Under the hashtag #TheRealSmith, the post contained: • Screenshots of Smith begging May to let him claim the baby, even after the pater

The following day,The rain had stopped, but the earth was still soft underfoot as May and Saint stepped out of the car. The chapel was tucked behind rows of sycamore trees—quiet, simple, forgotten by the city’s rush. The kind of place people came to when they needed to whisper to God, not parade before Him. May had brought Saint without telling him everything. Not yet. He only knew they were going “somewhere your mom loved.” Saint held her hand tighter than usual, his thumb nervously rubbing her palm. “Did mom come here a lot?” he asked. May nodded. “Every year on your birthday. She lit a candle and whispered something only the heavens heard.” Saint looked up at the chapel’s cross, then back at May. “Did she pray for me?” May crouched down to meet his eyes. “She prayed about you. That much I’m sure of.” Inside the chapel, sunlight filtered through stained glass in splashes of violet and gold. The pews creaked beneath them as they walked, Saint tugging her forward with a stran

The following day, The press room buzzed like a disturbed hive. Reporters crammed shoulder-to-shoulder, cameras rolling, fingers hovering over record buttons. The air was thick with tension, rumors, and the electric anticipation of scandal. They’d all seen the headlines. They all expected a fall. What they didn’t expect was John Bells standing before them with a calm fury in his eyes—and May Hemlings beside him, no longer hiding. She wore no makeup. No designer label. Just a simple navy blouse and strength. The kind that came from surviving hell and daring to return with receipts. John stepped forward. “I was removed from my position at Bells Corp yesterday,” he began, voice low but resonant. “Not because of incompetence, corruption, or fraud—but because I refused to be controlled by men who hide behind power.” Cameras clicked. Reporters leaned in. “This isn’t just about a CEO being ousted,” he continued. “It’s about how the truth gets buried when it threatens the wrong people.

After seeing May’s reaction, John summoned a board meeting.The boardroom smelled of sharp citrus and cold ambition. John stood at the end of the long mahogany table, his back straight, his jaw locked. Across from him sat men and women he’d worked with for over a decade—some loyal, some wolves in tailored suits. At the head of the table: Mr. Lanre, one of the senior board members and a quiet admirer of power, not morality. “We’re here,” Lanre said, “to address concerns raised over the past few weeks. Regarding public perception, investor confidence… and executive judgment.” There were murmurs. One woman cleared her throat. Another adjusted her glasses, avoiding John’s gaze. Adrian, of course, wasn’t seated with the rest. He leaned casually against the window, sipping espresso like he was attending a brunch, not a hostile corporate takeover. He caught John’s eyes and smirked. John didn’t flinch. He knew this moment was coming. Adrian had spent weeks poisoning their trust—subtly