Novels by Yela-ere

The grand ballroom of the estate was unrecognizable from the cold, sterile place it had been just a few weeks prior. Today, the towering glass windows were wide open, letting in a gentle, warm breeze and the sweet scent of blooming white roses. The heavy, intimidating security guards were gone, replaced by laughter, the clinking of champagne flutes, and the soft, uplifting melody of a live string quartet. I stood in front of the full length mirror in the bridal suite, staring at my reflection. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. The woman looking back at me didn't look like the broken, grieving girl who had spent five years working in a bakery, crying herself to sleep. I wore a breathtaking, off the shoulder gown made of soft ivory lace. It swept down my body elegantly, pooling around my feet in a delicate train. My hair was pinned up in soft curls, with a few loose strands framing my face. Around my neck hung a simple, delicate silver necklace the only piece of jewelry I had kept fro

The morning sun broke through the scattered clouds, spilling warm, golden light across the master bedroom of the mansion. The storm that had torn through the city the night before had vanished, leaving the air crisp, clean, and alive with the scent of rain washed earth and blooming jasmine from the gardens below. Everything felt renewed, as if the world itself had exhaled after holding its breath too long. I stirred slowly, pulled from sleep by the feather light press of soft, warm lips against my bare shoulder. A low, contented hum escaped my throat as I turned over, my body still heavy with the remnants of deep, dreamless rest. Ethan was propped up on one elbow, watching me with those piercing gray eyes soft now, but bright with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and that beautiful, genuine smile curved his lips. It was the same smile that had greeted me in our tiny, cramped apartment five year

The smell of rotting wood and saltwater was suffocating. I sat tied to a rusted metal chair in the center of the abandoned warehouse on Pier 4, the freezing wind howling through the shattered windowpanes above. Rain dripped from the ceiling, puddling around my bare feet. My wrists were raw and bleeding from twisting against the thick zip-ties binding me to the chair. Chloe sat a few feet away on a wooden crate, scrolling through her phone with complete indifference. Dylan stood by the heavy rolling metal doors, peering out into the dark, stormy night, his hand resting anxiously on the butt of the gun tucked into his waistband. "It’s almost midnight, Amelia," Chloe said without looking up, her voice dripping with boredom. "My father’s men are getting impatient outside. Just sign the papers and save us all the mess." "Go to hell, Chloe," I spat, my voice hoarse. I blinked past the sweat and rain dripping into my eyes. "Ethan will find out. He’s not the empty shell you think he is.

Ethan didn’t say a word as I dropped to my knees, pulled the briefcase out from behind the trash bin, and aggressively spun the dials back to 0 5 1 2. The click of the latches popping open felt like the sound of a hammer hitting a glass wall."Amelia, what is that?" Ethan asked, kneeling beside me on the plush carpet. His eyes were fixed on the worn leather, his brows furrowed in deep confusion. "I’ve never seen that briefcase in my life.""Because they hid it from you," I said, my voice shaking as I pulled out the thick manila folder and handed it to him. "Your amnesia wasn't an accident, Ethan. Read it. Please, just read it."He took the folder. I watched his gray eyes scan the first page, his expression transitioning from curiosity to absolute bewilderment, and finally, to a terrifying, deadly stillness. The color completely drained from his face. His fingers gripped the edges of the medical papers so tightly that the heavy stock wrinkled and tore under his thumbs."Compound X-72

The morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, casting long, golden lines across the master bedroom. I woke up slowly, feeling a deep, comforting warmth wrapped around me. Ethan was still asleep, one of his heavy, muscled arms draped possessively over my waist, pulling my back flush against his bare chest. I listened to the steady, calm rhythm of his breathing. For a few minutes, I just lay there, letting myself believe that the nightmare was finally over. The phantom ache that had lived in my chest for five long years was gone, replaced by the reality of his skin against mine. Slowly, trying not to disturb him, I lifted his arm and slipped out of bed. I pulled on one of Ethan’s oversized white button-down shirts, the cotton smelling wonderfully of his cologne, and walked out into the quiet hallway. He looked so peaceful asleep, the hard, stressed lines completely erased from his face. I wanted to let him rest. After the public explosion at the gala last night, to

The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was a sea of glittering diamonds, expensive Outfits, and fake smiles. It was the night of the Smith Enterprises welcoming gala, the event meant to solidify Ethan’s return and cement his future merger with the Vance family. I stood near a towering pillar, feeling completely invisible. Ethan had insisted I attend. He had instructed his staff to deliver a dress to my room—a breathtaking, emerald-green gown that fit me perfectly, draping over my curves like a second skin. But no matter how expensive the dress was, I still felt like a girl from the wrong side of the tracks playing dress-up. Across the room, Ethan was surrounded by a crowd of wealthy investors and politicians. He looked magnificent in a classic black tuxedo, his jaw set, his gray eyes scanning the room with his usual cold authority. Standing tightly by his side was Chloe. She wore a dramatic white gown that looked suspiciously like a wedding dress, her hand wrapped possessivel