Stacey Abrams Novel Novels & Stories

Stacey sat up straightening her back. “Looks like Ben doesn’t fit that bill either.” Amber snickered; She was relieved in a way… no more pretenses. She felt like a huge weight lifted but at the same time, she also felt like an abandoned puppy… no family… no kin…. Stacey was her last attachment she had of her kin.

Third Person POV “Ma I think you’d need to see this.” Stacy approached Christy at the dining table where she was deep in thoughts, sliding into depression at the thought of her miscarriage. “What did you say?” Christy was startled. “I’m sorry for startling you ma, but I think you should see this.” Stacy handed her some pages of card paper. Christy tried to read through them but her assimilation was slowed down by a migraine, thus taking more time to understand the gravity of the papers.

Over the next few days Amber switches from herself to Stacey. She begins to remember some of the time's, she is Stacey. But doesn’t realise that she has changed personalities. She just thinks of them as memory lapses, that she then remembers some of. She is becoming stressed about it though, thinking she has an underlying mental problem.

Tyler The late afternoon sun casts golden streaks through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the mansion. I sip a scotch, leaning back into the leather armchair in the private lounge, the fire crackling nearby. Meg lounges across from me, curled up with a glass of wine in hand, her expression thoughtful—too thoughtful. “So?” I ask, breaking the silence. “How did your little meetup with Stacey go?” She rolls her eyes and scoffs. “As expected. She accused me of everything under the sun—manipulation, betrayal, lies. Said I was trying to ruin her life.”

He simply walked away every time I approached him, and the distance growing between us felt frighteningly real. By lunch, I was exhausted. Hours later, I was miserable. The library seemed like the safest place to hide from my misery, by burning myself in fantasy books. Unfortunately, Stacey apparently had other plans. I barely opened my book ‘ After’ before she appeared across from me with three girls trailing behind her, and the look on her face immediately told me this wasn't a social visit. "Well, well." I sighed. "What do you want?" Stacey smiled, slamming her hands on the table. "I wanted to congratulate you."

STACEY I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, watching the golden city lights twinkle through the penthouse window. The whisky burned its way down my throat, but the satisfaction of my recent acquisition burned hotter. I had worked too hard to let anyone get in my way, not Shawna, not anyone. As I tilted the glass for another sip, a muffled voice dragged me back to reality. “Stacey, please… let me go. You’ve already taken my company. What more do you want from me?”

I opened my eyes afterwards and tried to take a step, but my legs were heavy. I tried again, and succeeded this time. Soon, I began walking perfectly till I was standing at the entrance of Mason's door. I could hear loud noises, screams and cries, and I wondered what was actually going on in there. I touched the door knob and immediately pushed the door open. There was Stacey on the floor, with a scary woman standing right beside her. They both cock their head to my direction while I stood transfixed and wondering what the hell was going on. Why was Stacey on the floor, and why was she bruised and treated like a servant.

At home, when the kids went to bed and Stacey retreated to her study with her manuscript edits or publisher’s emails, I sat at the kitchen table with a notepad, jotting down scattered plans. The hardest part was keeping it from her. Stacey had an intuition that often startled me, she could sense shifts in moods, the weight behind silences, the things unsaid. But perhaps she was too swamped now, too caught up in the whirlwind her book had become, to notice that I was hiding something.

Elara stepped into the room, the door clicking shut behind her. Abram finally lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, twin pits of amber fire that seemed to eat the dim light. "You're getting better at the blackmail. It’s almost erotic." "Don't flatter yourself. It’s just business." "Business?" Abram stood up. He moved with a predatory grace that the scrubs couldn't hide. He closed the distance in two steps, his literal weight pressing her back against the cold steel of the door. He smelled of sweat and that dark, cedar musk that made her skin hum. "You lock me in this hole, feed me through a slot, and call it business?"

progressive-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,ul,ol,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pr-8"> _*]:min-w-0 gap-3 standard-markdown"> Stacy's POV I stood at the bottom of the stairs long after he left, my knees aching from kneeling on the carpet. The cool air from the open door washed over me before I finally pushed myself up and closed it. What the hell was I doing?