Novels by Chidimma Eve

Fake Love, Real CracksThe morning light bled through Ava’s curtains, but it did nothing to warm the chill in her bones.On the table in front of her was a photograph.It had arrived in a black envelope — no note, no return address. Just the image:Damon and Serena. Tangled in each other. Kissing.The date in the corner?Exactly one week after her staged death.Her hands shook. Not from heartbreak — that would’ve required trust. But from the sharp sting of betrayal she’d dared to pretend wasn’t real.He had mourned her. He had shattered over her disappearance.But he’d also moved on. With the woman who wanted her gone.Ava blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall."Fake love always leaves real cracks," she whispered.---Damon stared at the broken photo frame on his office floor. Ava had left it there. Not shattered, just cracked. Like a warning.She hadn’t spoken to him since the photo.He tried to explain. Tried to text, to call, to beg. But she had gone cold.He knew why.Becau

The Night She Died Smoke still lingered in the air as fire crews combed through the wreckage of Ava’s exploded car. The early morning light turned the rising ash to gold, but nothing about the moment felt holy.She stood in the distance, arms wrapped around herself, the cold creeping deeper than her skin.Damon stood beside her, silent. Protective. Unmoving.“You know what this means,” she said after a long moment.He nodded. “It wasn’t just a warning. It was an invitation.”Ava’s jaw tensed. “Then let’s RSVP.”---Later that afternoon, she called a press conference.The city’s media outlets packed the hall. Cameras flashed. Murmurs echoed.Ava walked to the podium in a sleek black suit, hair pulled back like a blade.“My name is Aria Steele,” she began. “Two years ago, I was declared dead. Today, I reclaim my name, my legacy, and my truth.”Gasps filled the room.Damon watched from the back, heart thundering.“I was betrayed by people I trusted,” she continued. “But I will not be si

Ava didn’t sleep.She stared at the business card until the ink seemed to burn through her skin. "Tell him… he chose the wrong woman to protect."What the hell did it mean?Damon paced the living room like a panther caged in guilt.“This was a message,” she finally said. “But not just for me. For you.”“I know,” he muttered.Her eyes pinned him. “What aren’t you telling me?”He hesitated. “Caleb Rowe was my friend. My head of security. I trusted him with everything.”She narrowed her gaze. “Did you trust him with me?”He froze.“I didn’t know he was involved in your disappearance,” Damon said slowly, carefully. “But I’m starting to think… he wasn’t acting alone.”She stood. “That’s not an answer. Did you ever give the order, Damon?”His silence stretched.Her voice cracked. “Did you ever doubt me enough to want me dead?”He looked at her then, and for once, he looked like the one broken.“No,” he said hoarsely. “But I didn’t protect you. And that might’ve been worse.”---Meanwhile, N

The Enemy Inside The morning after Damon kissed Ava again was suffocatingly quiet.Ava sat at her kitchen table, untouched tea cooling in her hands, the taste of last night still burning on her lips. Not the kiss — the guilt. The rage. The collapse she almost let herself fall into.She wasn’t supposed to let him in again — physically or emotionally.Yet she had. Just for a second.A knock at the door pulled her from her spiral.Nari stepped in, face tight. “We have a situation.”Ava stood slowly, every muscle in her body tense. “What kind?”Nari held up a printed photo.It was Ava.From this morning.Walking through the lobby of her private residence.The image was grainy but damning.Someone had taken it up close — close enough to see the scar on her wrist. The one no one but Damon and Nari knew about.Ava went cold.“Who the hell took this?” she whispered.Nari didn’t blink. “Marcus Lyon says he’s not behind it.”Ava narrowed her eyes.“Then someone else knows I’m alive.”---Damon

Chapter 6 – Let Me Hurt Where You Left Me---lThe boardroom was silent.But not the respectful kind — the loaded kind. The kind of silence that smells like blood before anyone notices the wound.Damon sat at the head of the King Group table, shoulders rigid, jaw locked.Across from him sat eight board members — men and women who used to cling to his words. Now they were clinging to contingency plans.One spoke. “We need to step back from the press.”Another added, “Or better yet — you do.”Damon didn’t flinch.“You want me to resign?” he asked, voice cold.“No,” said Marissa Sloan, his oldest board ally. “We want you to disappear long enough for the public to forget.”“And if I don’t?”They didn’t answer.Because they didn’t need to.---After the meeting, Damon stood in the executive washroom, staring at his reflection.The man looking back at him wasn’t a king. He was a shell.Underneath the power and the arrogance was a man falling apart — haunted by a woman he destroyed and a tr

Damon didn’t sleep.Again.The sheets still smelled like her. Or maybe it was a memory. Either way, it strangled him.That kiss…It was nothing like before.It wasn’t love.It was punishment.And God help him—he wanted more of it.His lips still burned with the weight of her mouth. Her breath. Her words.“This kiss isn’t forgiveness. It’s evidence.”He replayed it a thousand times. And every time it ended the same — with her pulling away. And him… standing in the middle of everything he broke.At 5:43 a.m., his phone buzzed.PR HEADLINES UPDATE:KING GROUP STOCK DOWN 7%#CancelKing trending worldwideEx-employee speaks anonymously: “It was all covered up.”He slammed the phone against the table. The screen cracked. Didn’t matter.What mattered was: the empire he built was bleeding.And she was the one holding the knife.---In her penthouse, Ava sat in the dark, barefoot, wrapped in a silk robe.The lights were off. The glass of wine untouched.She wasn’t angry. Not tonight.She was t