Novels by Gemma D. Nash

“Mommy, you’re going to be late.”“I’m not going to be late,” I replied, reaching across the kitchen counter to slide a plate toward Alice. “I’m managing my time.”“You said that yesterday,” she pointed out, narrowing her eyes slightly. “And then you were late.”I paused mid-step, then sighed. “That was one time.”“It was two times,” she corrected, already picking up her fork.I glanced at Ace over her head. He was seated at the table, coffee in hand, watching the exchange with quiet amusement that he wasn’t even trying to hide.“You’re not helping,” I told him.“I’m not interfering,” he replied calmly. “There’s a difference.”“She’s ganging up on me.”“I’m being accurate,” Alice said, her tone firm as she took a bite of her pancake.I crossed my arms. “You’re seven.”“I’m right,” she said through a mouthful of food.Ace huffed out a quiet laugh, setting his cup down. “She has a point.”I stared at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”“I am on your side,” he said. “I’m just not wi

The first time I got married, I didn’t choose it.Not really.I told myself I did. I convinced myself it was love, that it was history, that it was something inevitable and right. But looking back now, standing barefoot on the grass with the evening sun settling softly over the estate, I understood the difference.That wedding had been performance.This… wasn’t.“Mommy, you’re not listening.”Alice’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I blinked down at her where she stood in front of me, hands on her hips in a way that was far too familiar.“I am listening,” I said, smiling faintly. “You said the flowers are uneven.”“They are uneven,” she insisted, turning to point at the small arrangement set up near the edge of the garden. “That one is higher than the other one, and it’s bothering me.”I followed her gaze, studying the flowers.They were slightly uneven.“You’re right,” I admitted.“I know,” she said, nodding with full confidence. “We have to fix it before Daddy gets here.”I

The detention center didn’t look the way I expected it to.There was no dramatic weight to it. No sense of finality carved into the walls. Just clean floors, muted colors, and a silence that felt procedural rather than emotional. It was a place built for processing, not reflection.Still, something about it pressed against my chest as I stepped inside.“Name?” the officer at the front desk asked without looking up.“Lily.”His pen paused mid-stroke. His eyes flicked up briefly, recognition passing across his face before it was quickly masked. “You’re expected,” he said, setting the pen down. “This way.”Of course I was.Nothing about this was accidental.I followed him down a long corridor, the sound of our footsteps echoing faintly. The further we walked, the quieter it became, like the building was swallowing noise the deeper we went.“Three separate requests were made,” he added as we stopped in front of a secured door. “You can choose who you see first.”“Willow,” I said.The offi

The studio lights were warmer than I expected.Not harsh. Not blinding. Just steady enough to make everything feel deliberate, controlled—like nothing existed outside the space they illuminated. The kind of environment where words didn’t slip accidentally. They were placed. Measured. Recorded.Permanent.I sat across from the interviewer, my hands resting loosely in my lap, my posture straight but not rigid. The chair was comfortable, but I didn’t let myself sink into it. Comfort had a way of softening edges, and I needed mine intact.“You’re sure you don’t want water?” the producer asked quietly from the side.“I’m fine,” I replied.He nodded and stepped back.Across from me, the interviewer—calm, polished, practiced—offered a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll take this at your pace,” she said. “There’s no pressure to answer anything you’re not comfortable with.”“I understand,” I said.There was a brief pause as final adjustments were made. A microphone clipped. A camera angle checked

By the next morning, the world had already decided who I was.I didn’t need to open my phone to know that. I could feel it in the way the air inside the house had shifted—tenser, heavier, like even the walls were bracing for impact. Still, I opened it anyway, because avoiding it wouldn’t change anything.The headlines came in waves.GRANT HEIR SCANDAL EXPLODESKIDNAPPING, CORPORATE FRAUD, AND A SECRET CHILDWHO IS LILY?I stared at the last one longer than I should have.Who is Lily?The question wasn’t curious. It was invasive. Hungry.I scrolled.Victim.Manipulative opportunist.Gold digger.Survivor.Liar.The words blurred together until they stopped meaning anything and started feeling like pressure against my chest.“She shouldn’t even be near that child.”My thumb froze.I reread the comment slowly, my stomach tightening.“She shows up out of nowhere and suddenly she’s the mother? Please.”A sharp knock sounded against the bedroom door before it opened without waiting for perm

The cameras started flashing before we even reached the podium.By morning, the story had fractured across every network—kidnapping, corporate scandal, socialite matriarch in handcuffs. The Grant name had become a headline instead of a legacy, and for once, the narrative wasn’t being controlled behind closed doors.Ace had called the press conference himself.Not a statement through legal counsel.Not a controlled leak.Not silence.A conference.The ballroom of the Grant headquarters had been transformed overnight into a media arena. Reporters packed shoulder to shoulder, microphones branded with logos angled toward the stage, eyes sharp with anticipation. They wanted blood, denial, spin.They weren’t going to get any of that.I stood just behind the curtain with Alice in my arms. She was quiet, unusually so, her fingers wrapped around a loose strand of my hair as if anchoring herself. She had barely slept. Neither had I. But she felt solid against me—warm, alive, safe—and that was e

I couldn’t stop looking at her picture. Jane. She had so much life in her. I wanted to give her the world. I wanted to give her as much happiness as she wanted. She had hopes. Dreams. And then, now, suddenly, it was all gone.The sharpness in my chest returned since I dropped Marcus off. I didn’t know what to do with it. I was going to return home to drink when my friends called and insisted we got pizza. They heard about her death on the news. This was their way of cheering me up. Would I be a bad friend if I told them I really wanted to be alone tonight?I was stalling by the counter, ordering things I knew I wouldn’t eat. I had no appetite, and all I wanted to do was…It wasn’t that bad t admit. I wanted to talk to Marcus. It was the only sane thing I did today. Talk to someone I didn’t even know. How sad had my life become?And he hadn’t responded to my text. I shouldn’t have sent that message. It made me look pathetic. Dumb. Of course, it was a one-time thing. We weren’t friend

For the first few minutes, I thought I had to be dreaming. No. Scratch that. I was so certain I was dreaming. Even before I clicked the text open, for some reason, I knew who it was.It was there at the back of my mind, scratching like a cat that wanted to be let in. Only that this time, it was a stray that wasn’t meant to come in. I knew it could hurt me. I knew what getting my hopes high could do to me. Yet, I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop my heart from lurching almost painfully when I opened the message.I swallowed, my eyes reading the words greedily at first, and then slowly the second time, careful not to miss anything.It was impossible to stop the chuckle from leaving my lips. Jordan was mourning, yet he still had it in him to throw jokes around. After you all but ran out of my car…or more like hopped out with the crutches and all… I saw someone else with crutches almost immediately. Of course, he was nothing like you, but that’s beside the point. The crutches were custo

“Shit, Anna, I’m…”“Hmmmm.” She was sitting on my bed in my dorm room, her arms folded across her chest. “8 pm. Perfect time for lunch, don’t you think?”"I was going to call you, I promise, but I just…"“Ran out of time? Lost track of the time?”“Anna…”She slid out of the bed and walked over to me. "Chill, Marcus. I already ate like hours ago. I was just worried. I tried calling repeatedly, but it went to voicemail, and I didn't know what to…." Her voice trailed off when she saw the look on my face. “Let me guess. You put your phone on DND.”“I was painting, and I….Shit. I’m a horrible friend. I’m sorry.”“It’s just unlike you to do things like this,” she said, angling her head. “Where were you?”“The faculty,” I said without thinking. “I had to get ahead on my assignments. You know how it can get.”“We literally just finished exams, Marcus. Ever heard of something called rest? You earned it. Your assignments for our third year are going nowhere. I don’t even know why your Professo

I found his sister's room down the hall, and for the first few minutes, I was unable to go in. She was dead, and I was going to use her art supplies. It didn't feel right. Standing by the door, it was easy to assume that the youngest Arthur was loved. Every inch of the room was covered in a shade of lilac, from the sheets to the blinds, and the cute rug covering the centre of the room.She must have been ill for a while, but Jordan hadn't changed a thing. Unconsciously, I looked back into the hallway. He must have fallen asleep by now. I could imagine it. His brown hair scratching the sheets of the pillows, and the small frown I had a feeling creased his face each time he was asleep.No, Marcus. You can’t do that. You can’t.So, I did the only thing I had power over. I crossed the threshold and hopped into the room with my crutches. It wasn’t hard to find her art supplies, nestled in an adjoining room. She must have been working on something when she discovered she was ill.There was

“I don’t think I should…”“It’s just vodka, pretty boy.” He was back to that again. “It won’t hurt you. And I’ll be here the whole time, just in case you need to, you know… puke or something.”It should have been funny, but there was no humour in his eyes. “Don’t look at me that way,” he muttered, sprawling on the floor in front of the window. “What way?” I whispered, standing behind him, our reflections softly bouncing off the glass. He glanced at me for a short second, then bent over the bottle, twisting the cap. “Pity,” he replied after another second. “The Arthurs detest when people feel pity for them. It makes us look weak.”“Who told you that, Jordan?”In that moment, he seemed to realize he’d just said something he shouldn’t have. “Sit, Marcus. I won’t bite you. Or at least, I’ll try not to.”The last bit was a joke, too. I knew it was. So, why did I feel warmth pool at the pit of my stomach as my feet pushed forward, settling next to him? I still had to pee, desperately now

Jordan parked inside the underground garage of a huge building downtown. The second we stepped out of the car, my bladder pressed against me, and I brought my bottom lip between my teeth, clamping down. He took it in, his eyes lingering for a second too long before bringing themselves upwards. He nodded toward the elevator. “Come on.”The ride to the penthouse felt too long. Suffocating. Not because of Jordan, but because of whatever that was over the phone call. I’d noticed that he looked….smaller somehow, since that call.His hands tightened into fists repeatedly, and he seemed to be very jittery, like someone had snuffed out all the arrogance and confidence he had. The elevator doors chimed open and Jordan stepped out fist.He barely made it three steps into the apartment before halting abruptly. I almost crashed into him. The penthouse was huge. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Los Angeles, the dull weather stretching endlessly beyond the glass. From that point, I could see o