Novels by MARY JUDY

That same night, Léo sought Elara. He walked quietly down the hallway toward her room.Marco, still in his study, heard the faint footsteps and recognized the knock on Elara’s door. Jealousy surged through him like wildfire. His hatred for Léo was growing into something he couldn’t contain.No one dared to go near what belonged to him—not on earth, not in the underworld. Even hell trembled at the sound of his name. He wasn’t just a man—he was a storm in a tailored suit. A living nightmare. His name wasn’t whispered—it was carved in fear.Even the devil thought twice before crossing him.He didn’t just burn bridges—he scorched entire kingdoms, leaving behind only ash and silence. Crossing Marco De Luca was a death wish dressed in arrogance. And those foolish enough to try never lived long enough to regret it.Power didn’t follow Marco. It knelt before him.He would tear apart anyone who touched what was his—limb from limb, without mercy.He pushed out of his chair, ready to kill Léo on

Later that night, Marco sat in his study, slouched in his leather chair, scrolling through documents on his phone when a message popped up. It was from his mother.'Marco, isn't it time you gave us a grandson?'He sighed. She was on this topic again. Every other month it was the same message in different words. He wasn’t in the mood for “The Heir” conversation tonight.He would never let Rosina give him an heir. She was too ambitious, too unpredictable. Who knew what she or her family might do if they got a taste of control? Giving her a child meant giving her power. And that was never going to happen.Before he could process those thoughts, his phone rang again."Mamma" is displayed on the screen.He groaned, rubbing his temples. He should’ve known she’d call if he didn’t respond. Ignoring her message was one thing—but not picking up the phone? He wouldn’t dare. She always knew when he’d seen a message.He picked up.“Pronto, Mamma,” (Hello Mom) he answered flatly.“Marco, why did

Marco sat alone in the glass-walled conference room of De Luca Enterprises, staring blankly ahead.His suit was crisp, and his posture composed—but his mind was not.Steam curled upward from the untouched cup of espresso in front of him. He didn’t move. The memory still flashed in his mind:She had been pressed against him, her lips parted, her skin warm beneath his hands.But the chill in the air said otherwise.A sudden knock at the door shattered the illusion.A young woman, elegant and poised in her black suit, stood outside. Her golden, wavy hair dropped over her shoulders.“Sir?” Her voice came through the intercom. “The Singapore partners are ready for the call.”Marco blinked. Once. Slowly. His grip loosened. He drew in a breath and adjusted the cuff of his shirt as his jaw flexed.He had dozed off in his chair, but she still came to him in a dream.Elara. Always Elara. Clinging to him like a shadow he couldn't shake.He hated it—hated her—for showing up even in sleep.And to

Elara kept her distance. Since their last confrontation, she had been careful—avoiding Marco in every possible way. At the dining table, she avoided his gaze. She always kept a few steps away and spoke only when necessary. She even had Léo replace her as the one who brought Marco his tea.Marco, who had grown used to seeing her in those quiet moments, found himself expecting her presence. But she never showed up.Now, he was pissed.Who did she think she was to avoid him? Did she really believe she could win this game? She’d be foolish to think so.Yet, despite his frustration, Marco sensed something deeper. She wasn’t keeping her distance out of fear. It was something else.And he felt it.She had made up her mind—whether to test his obsession or to prove something to herself, he wasn’t sure. But she was playing a dangerous game.She was toying with him, whether she realized it or not. The way she avoided him, the way her lips parted slightly before she bit them, the way her hands tr

Léo quietly walked out of Elara’s room, gently closing the door behind him with a soft click.His every movement was measured and intentional, as though he recognized the importance of maintaining silence in that moment.He didn’t look back.Elara, on the other hand, couldn’t move.She sat against the door, shaking as she tried to calm her breathing. Marco's words kept repeating in her mind:“I own you. Bought and paid for. You don’t make plans, you don’t make choices, and you don’t leave.”His words felt heavy in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She had tried to endure it, but she couldn’t keep living this way.Her father had sold her to Marco, reducing her to a mere commodity.But she knew the brutal truth: she alone held the power to save herself. No one else would. She was a human being, for crying out loud!She deserved to make her own choices—to breathe without Marco's suffocating control.She would rather die than be his pawn.The thought hit her clearly and hard. It wasn’

Marco finally had his shipments back. Thanks to Rosina’s father, who accompanied Marco to the officials who could help release his goods, the deal went through.Despite his better judgment, Marco accepted their help. He understood, though, that favors like this came at a cost.Rosina would want something in return, and he knew she always got what she wanted.The thought of it left a sour feeling in his stomach as he entered the house.The silence inside felt heavy, almost suffocating.Tension clung to him, and even though the long night of negotiations had ended successfully, he didn’t feel relieved.There was no sense of victory.As he slowly climbed the stairs, his fingers traced the cool banister, each step quiet and careful.Years of living on the edge had taught him to always listen carefully—to be aware of what others wanted to hide.A distant clock ticked in the hallway, a constant reminder that time was slipping away from him.Then he heard Elara’s voice.It was soft and distan