Novels by Mirage Sha

Aria POV I remember the sound before the pain. Alex calling from downstairs. “Aria, are you not coming for dinner?” His voice carried warmth, the kind that always made something inside my chest soften. I smiled, one hand resting on my stomach, the other gripping the banister as I made my way down the stairs carefully. Nine months. Heavy. Slow. Careful. I had only gone upstairs to get my shawl. That was all. My foot slipped. Just a small mistake. A single moment. Then the world tilted. The banister vanished from my fingers. My body lurched forward and suddenly I was falling: tumbling, rolling, crashing against hard steps that knocked the air from my lungs. Pain exploded through my abdomen. Something warm spread beneath me. Blood. So much blood. I could not breathe. I could not think. My trembling hands moved instinctively to my stomach. “My baby…” The whisper barely left my lips. Footsteps thundered. “Aria!” Alex’s voice broke — sharp, terrified. He reached me,

Aria POVWhen the news broke, my father’s stock crashed by thirty percent. Thirty. The number replayed everywhere: financial channels, social media, investors panicking, analysts shouting. It was not enough to destroy him. But it was enough to wound him. Enough to slow him. Enough to buy Alex time. Enough to make the empire tremble. For the first time in my life, my father bled. And while the world watched numbers fall, I stayed beside the man fighting for breath. The First Five Days The hospital became my world. I woke there. Ate there. Cried there. Every morning I cleaned his bedside table myself even though nurses had already done it. I wiped invisible dust. Rearranged flowers. Changed the water. Straightened the sheets that never moved. Anything to feel useful. Anything to feel close to him. I talked to him constantly. About everything. About the weather. About the scandal. About the chaos outside. About how quiet his office felt without him. I told him thi

Aria POVA lil backstory.Before everything collapsed… before the scandal, before the hospital, before the fear, there was something about power I had always understood.Because I was born into it.I knew how men like Alex worked.I knew what wealth did to people.I knew the imbalance that came when one person held everything and the other held nothing.I understood it because my father was the same kind of man.No.Worse.My father, Richard, was a conglomerate king.A man whose wealth shaped governments.A man who believed money was the only law that mattered.A man who never accepted loss.Alex was powerful.But my father built power out of destruction.And I had spent my whole life running from him.Before I met Alex, I had already abandoned everything.The luxury.The cars.The inheritance waiting in my name.I refused his money.Stopped using his cards.Left the city he ruled.I chose to struggle rather than belong to him.People thought I was foolish.They never knew the truth.

Aria POV Waiting is the cruelest kind of torture. The hospital corridor stretched endlessly before me, silent except for distant footsteps and the mechanical beeping behind closed doors. Time moved differently here. Slower. Heavier. Every second dragged like a punishment. So I did the only thing my mind allowed. I remembered. Memories came in fragments. The day I deliberately twisted my ankle in the office just to make him notice me. The sharp gasp. The dramatic fall. And the way he said focus on your job and stop trying to seduce me.Someone who was already in love with me already.Lols.The way he lose control whenever I am involved in any situation. I had never seen him lose control like that with anyone else. I remembered the tension between us in empty hallways. The charged silence. The way his gaze lingered longer than it should. The way he spoke to everyone else with cold authority… Yet softened when he spoke to me. The way he protected me. Defended me. Spoile

Aria POVI don’t remember grabbing my hoodie.One moment I was staring at the screen.The next, my hands were moving on their own.I pulled the hood over my hair.A mask.Sunglasses.Anything to hide a face the world suddenly recognized.My fingers trembled so badly I could barely dial his assistant’s number.“Where is he?” My voice cracked before the call even connected. “Where is Alexander? Tell me where he is. Where is my—” I stopped, breath shaking. “Where is he?”The answer came quickly.Hospital.Then he said I’d send you the address, it’s a classified information.That was all I needed.I hadn’t driven in weeks.The car smelled stale, untouched, like a forgotten life waiting for me to return.The engine roared too loudly in the quiet estate.Security guards watched as I sped past the gates. I didn’t care who recognized me. I didn’t care who filmed me.The world could burn.I just needed to reach him.Traffic stretched endlessly before me.Every red light felt like a personal cr

Aria POVLater that day.I switched on my phone and I did the only thing that felt possible.I deactivated everything.Instagram first. Then Twitter. Then every platform where my face existed, where my name could be spoken without my permission. One by one, accounts disappeared. Profiles vanished. History erased.I uninstalled the apps.The silence afterward felt violent.For the first time in years, the world could not reach me.And for the first time in years, I had no excuse to avoid myself.Without the noise, there was only truth.It came slowly at first.Then all at once.I began replaying everything.Meeting Ethan.The curiosity.The attraction.The mistake.Then his father.The first time had been chaos, confusion, anger, vulnerability tangled into something neither of us had named.The second time had not been a mistake.The second time had been consent.Clear. Conscious. Deliberate.I had chosen it.I had chosen him.Now I carried his child.A soft movement stirred beneath my

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