Novel-novel oleh Mirage Sha

Two days later, the walls of my apartment felt like they were closing in.The silence was too loud. My phone buzzed constantly even when it wasn’t ringing. Every shadow felt like a watcher. I hadn’t slept properly since the scandal broke, and the weight of it all pressed on my chest until breathing felt like work.So I did the one thing Lucy would absolutely lose her mind over.I went outside.I didn’t tell her. I didn’t tell Tracy. I pulled on a face mask, a cap pulled so low it shadowed half my face, and stepped out just as evening began to settle. The sun hung low, turning the streets gold, pretending the world was normal.I walked slowly, hands tucked into my sleeves, replaying everything I’d tried not to think about. The podcast. The kiss. The headlines. The way my name had stopped feeling like mine.Then I smelled him. Not his cologne. That was gone. This was something sour and heavy, like old alcohol clinging to skin that had not slept enough or washed enough or cared enough

Alex POVI’m actually feeling happy since I left Aria’s house, I’m glad we were able to settle all our grudges and misunderstandings.We even did baby shopping online, I’m so happy about everything.I was even whistling like a young man, down my hallway until I received a call from my secretary.I wondered why he was calling me.So when my phone continued vibrating nonstop, I assumed it was routine noise. Time zone differences. A board member waking up anxious. A regional director overreacting to market chatter.I did not assume it was war.Few minutes later, i was in my home office, sleeves rolled, tie still loose around my neck, skimming a quarterly report when my chief of staff knocked once and entered without waiting.That alone made me look up.She never broke protocol.“Sir,” she said, voice tight, tablet pressed to her chest. “We have a situation.”I exhaled slowly. “Define situation.”She hesitated. A fraction of a second too long.“The board is requesting an emergency meeting

My chest tightened. Not the dramatic kind. Not the kind that announces itself loudly in the form of heart attack. This was quiet. Heavy. Like something pressing inward from all sides, asking my lungs to negotiate for space. Leah was still talking but her words were blurring together now. Brands. Screenshots. Commentary. Everywhere. “Okay,” I said, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounded. “Okay.” Leah blinked. She was pacing already, fingers flying over her phone, opening emails, closing them, opening another app. “This is not okay,” she said. “This is the kind of thing that either ends a career or rebrands it overnight. And we do not let the internet decide which one it is.” I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes for half a second. When I opened them, the kitchen looked the same. White tiles. Morning light. The faint smell of ginger from the tea I never drank. “Talk to me,” I said. “Slow.” She took a breath. Planted her feet. Looked at me properly f

I woke up to the sound of breathing that was not mine.For a split second, panic shot through me. My body stiffened before my mind caught up. Then I remembered. The couch. The blankets. The weight of last night settling quietly into morning.He couldn’t go home because he still felt weak and I wasn’t that inhuman to send him away in such a state.Sunlight leaked through the curtains in thin lines, landing on the edge of the rug, the arm of the sofa, the side of his face. Alexander was still asleep. One arm flung carelessly over his chest, lashes resting against his cheek like he belonged there. Like this was normal.It was not.I sat up slowly, careful not to make the bed creak. My chest felt tight, but not in the sharp painful way. This was softer. Confusing. The kind of tightness that came from letting something familiar back in when you promised yourself you would not.I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood. The room smelled faintly like his cologne and the tea I never

“Those bartenders,” I said. “The night we met. The ones who refused to give me your number. Was that you.” His expression changed. Not guilt exactly. Something closer to resignation. “Yes.” The word sat there between us. I swallowed. “Why.” “Because I’m an influential person and i didn’t want anyone, especially a one night stand to get access to me unnecessarily.” he said simply. I laughed once. It came out sharp. “Lol .” “Yes.” At least he did not dress it up. My gaze dropped to my hands. “Did you know who I was before you slept with me.” “No.” The answer came too quickly to be rehearsed. “I knew your face later,” he continued. “After. When I saw your face properly the following morning. But that night, before the sex… you were just a woman who looked at me like she did not need anything from me.” I felt my throat tighten despite myself. “And after,” I asked, softer now. “After we slept together. Did you know.” “Yes.” I nodded slowly. That explained m

For a second my brain refused to process it. He looked unreal. Too still. One arm twisted awkwardly beneath him, his face pale against the dark tile. “Alex,” I breathed. No response.The sound that left my throat was small and broken. I dropped beside him, knees hitting the rug, palms hovering uselessly over his chest like I was afraid to touch him and confirm something I was not ready to name.He was breathing. Shallow, but there.Relief came so fast it hurt.“I told you not to come,” I said, even though he could not hear me. My voice shook anyway. “I locked the door.”I pressed my ear lightly to his chest. His heartbeat was there, uneven but stubborn. Too fast. Too loud.I could not lift him. Even if I tried, even if adrenaline helped, my body would not allow it. The doctor’s voice from earlier echoed in my head. High blood pressure. Stress is not your friend right now.I swallowed hard and stood, grabbing the thick throw blanket from the couch, then another from the bedroom. I kn

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