Novels by Intana Meisya

Tiffany's POV The silence stretched between us until Lucas let out a short, mocking laugh. “Right,” he said, turning around and grabbing the strap of his duffel bag. “Keep lying. That’s real convincing.” “I’m telling the truth!” I stepped forward and grabbed his arm. “I swear to God, Hale.” He ripped his arm away. “You can read every damn thing in my head. Every single time. You do it without even trying. And you’re telling me you can’t read his? Yeah, right. Keep playing games.” “I’m not,” I yelled. “I have never been able to hear a single thing inside his head. From the very first second I met him in that ballroom, there was just dead silence. I have absolutely no idea what he is thinking.” Lucas stared at me, searching for any sign that I was lying. The rigid anger in his shoulders slowly began to crack as he realized I was telling the truth. Then his expression darkened even more. “Then you lied to me from the very start,” he said, his voice completely flat. I swallowed ha

Tiffany's POV For one stupid second, I forgot how to breathe. Which was ridiculous. This was not my first kiss. I had been kissed before. Three ex-boyfriends, technically. The first one was just dumb teenage hormones behind the bleachers. The second was a sloppy mess at a basement party where we kept bumping teeth. The third one broke up with me over text after a kiss, once I accidentally read his mind mid-makeout and he panicked because apparently thinking “she’s going to find out I still follow my ex” is not the kind of thing you want someone hearing in real time. None of those absolute disasters prepared me for this. Scars kissed me like he meant to steal the breath straight out of my lungs. His hand slid from my jaw into my hair. He tilted my head back slightly and deepened the kiss. It was soft. Impossibly soft. It made my knees go weak. I stopped feeling the cold metal door pressing into my back. There was only him, the heat of his body, and the rough stubble grazing my ch

Tiffany's POV A heavy arm locked around my waist and yanked me backward into a pitch-black alcove. I thrashed instantly. I drove my elbow backward, aiming for ribs, and brought my heel down hard, completely forgetting I was barefoot. My heel slammed into something solid. The man grunted but did not let go. “Stop fighting,” a harsh voice hissed right next to my ear. “I work for Mercer.” I froze. My pulse hammered against my ribs, but I forced myself to stop struggling. The hand slowly moved away from my mouth. I spun around, my back hitting the cold steel wall of the alcove. The man standing in front of me was tall, dressed in a faded mechanic uniform that blended into the shadows. “Prove it,” I demanded, keeping my voice barely above a whisper. “Why should I believe you actually work for Mercer?” “Captain Dean Mercer sent your file before you boarded,” he said quickly, glancing down the corridor behind me. “Yours and Detective Hale’s. I know who you are, so do not start doing th

Tiffany's POV Okay, seriously, what the hell. I was a trained detective. I did not burn myself or trip twice in one day like some romance novel extra. Sofia Harper was starting to feel a little too real. And now I had to face Dominic Hunter. Of all people. Perfect. Lucas shifted under me, helping me roll off him without making it look weird, then stood and pulled me up with him. His hand stayed on my lower back for a beat longer than necessary before he let go. Classic protective brother move, but the tension in his shoulders told me he was pissed. Dominic’s eyes dragged over both of us, lingering a little too long on the way my dress had ridden up slightly from the fall. Lucas stepped half in front of me, casual but clearly blocking Dominic’s line of sight. His voice came out even, that lazy edge he usually saved for annoying me now dialed into brother mode. “She tripped. Shit happens. You got a problem with that?” Dominic let out a low laugh, stepping closer. “Nah, man. Ju

Tiffany’s POV I told Mercer what happened. I held my hand up toward the camera first, still faintly red under the loose bandage Scars had wrapped earlier. It looked worse than it felt, which was saying something because it already stung every time I moved my fingers. “It’s fine,” I said quickly, flexing them once just to prove a point. “See. I can still move my hand perfectly.” Mercer’s expression changed the moment he saw it. The pen in his hand stopped mid-air. “That is not fine, Tiffany,” he said, voice low, controlled but sharper than usual. “How did that even happen?” I explained it. The cup slipping from my hand. The sudden burn. The way everything happened too fast to stop. And Lucas just sitting there. By the time I finished, Mercer was already leaning closer to the screen like he could physically reach through it. “You should have been more careful,” he said. “I’m okay,” I said. “Really.” What I did not say was how it bothered me that Lucas did not even ask if I was

Tiffany's POV Scars turned and started walking toward the sliding glass doors that led inside. Lucas followed right behind him, his heavy arm still clamped tightly around my shoulders. I matched his pace, but the second Scars moved a few steps ahead, I leaned closer to Lucas’s ear. "You can let go now," I whispered. Lucas didn’t say anything out loud. Instead, his voice slid directly into my mind, sharp and annoyed. [Just gave up my shirt for you, Barbie. The least you can do is share some body heat. Stop complaining and walk.] “Maybe you didn’t need to throw your shirt on me and risk putting our entire mission in danger just because Dominic was staring.” The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I hadn't meant it seriously. If anything, I was grateful. Dominic's stare had made my skin crawl, and Lucas had stepped in without a second thought. It was one of the reasons I knew, underneath all the sarcasm and constant headaches he gave me, he was a genuinely good man

Years later...The wedding vows that had been taken, would always be the binding between us. We had built a prosperous and peaceful family together during our ten years of marriage.I am grateful to have two children, Adrian and Skylar.Adrian Ainsley, aged nine, had become an older brother who loves his younger sister, Skylar. He really became a big brother for her.His face is not the same bit as mine, but with his father. Sometimes I got annoyed by comments from people who never realized my resemblance to him.They often said that none of my children look like me. Even my lovely baby, Skylar. She's 99 percent like her father, only different genders."Look mom, I have a new word to tell you." Adrian came over to me with his favorite basketball between his right arm.I don't know where his hobbies come from, but he really likes playing basketball. Barra and I don't

He doesn't understand!He doesn't get it at all!My thoughts about marriage had changed. If I used to think of a beautiful wedding like in the world of fairy tale, now I wasn't thinking the same anymore. I became to think differently. I was terrified just thinking about marriage.Especially after clearly knowing the details of what happened in past. My own parents' marriage did not go smoothly.It was so toxic and full of cruel twists. Rose Ozza, my mother, or Yolanda may be strong in facing their ordeal, but it was different for me. I got fragile easily and now I scared so much.I was afraid that Barra would leave me for a better and worthy one. I got so fed up just thinking about other women had the edge over me.I'm a woman and of course, wanting the same thing all women wants, to get married.A sacred event that I wanted to happen once in my life and with the ri

All problems had found a bright spot. Then what now?Haytham and Alia had returned to their mansion and living their lives as before.I gave Ronald and Elsa a day off as a token of gratitude for helping me all this time, while Jake ... that guy was busy running his single life by becoming a player. He dated different women every week, I didn't even know their names.As for Jazzlin, I asked her to stay with me, in the mansion. Everything felt lonely when she was not there, around me. So, we decided to stay together from now on.I looked at her whole face. She looked innocent with her eyes closed. I pushed aside the strands of hair when it covered her face, then looked at her again.A smile appeared on my face, imagining how lucky I was to finally with her again.I put my head on the pillow, tilted my face closer to her.Her breath blew to me as her hand was right in

"Principessa?" Barra's voice assured me that I'm still alive.I was so limp as I opened my eyes. My hand had its way to my face. I shut my mouth closed while I yawned."Glad to see you wake up again." His words made me chuckle."Hmmm, you're still waiting for me? I thought Moorah already stole you from me."His face frowned when I mentioned Moorah's name, "I'm just kidding." I laughed out loud, "Besides, I know who you love. That person is me and not another woman."He gave me his best smile, "Oh yeah?" His finger poked my nose."Auch! Stop it." I tried to reach his finger. The more I couldn't get it, the more he kept teasing me. He kept poking my nose, every time I tried to stop him.He chuckled, "I win and you lose." He told me then showing me his thumbs down."I hate you." Hearing my answer, he moved closer to me. He pulled the strands of my hair

It was like dejavu. I brought her back to my mansion. It was like the old time, I sat waiting for her to wake up.The last time she was unconscious was because she attempted suicide. I didn't realize she'd woken up again, but with someone else's spirit, Janielle.Now she was unconscious again, and I gripped her soft hand with hope filled my heart.The doctor said she was just passed out, but it had been hours and she hadn't opened her beautiful eyes yet.I remembered how terrified I got when I was told that she was unconscious because she had tried to kill herself.At that time the feeling of regret got me. I wasn't there when she needed me. Then now, I was by her side and still couldn't take care of her.(Flashback to chapter one from Barra's point of view)It had been a long time since I met my old friend, Jazzlin Ozza. The news about the woman was circulating in

I had to tell my truth to Jazzlin's father, so he would forgive his daughter. He used to love her so much, but because of this ... everything had changed.Haytham insisted on joining us to Jeremy Ozza's penthouse, even though at first Barra didn't want him there. They both tried to dominate each other, but they just ended up falling in a cold war for a moment.When I was right in front of the penthouse, my palms got cold. I rubbed my itchy eyes then prepared myself once more.I was so restless and it really made me want to pee. Before the others got inside, I had already rushed in there to find a restroom.I went into one of the restrooms and immediately peed. The sound of footsteps made me stop my next action."Jazzlin, are you in there?"My lips pouted when I noticed it was Moorah.For God's sake, I don't like her so why does she keep walking around in my life ?

Rebecca's POV The first reports from the border came two weeks after the army left. I was in the throne room reviewing petitions when a messenger arrived, mud-splattered and exhausted. He dropped to one knee and held out a sealed letter. I took it with hands that didn't shake only because I forced them to stay steady. The seal was Gideon's. The handwriting inside was his too, neat and controlled despite being written in what was probably a battlefield tent. "Your Majesty, The first engagement was successful. We broke through their defensive line and pushed them back to the valley. Casualties were minimal on our side. Theirs were significant. Karl Jasmere and his sister Vanessa have been recovered. Both are alive and unharmed. They're being escorted back to the palace under guard and should arrive within the week. We're advancing on their main camp. Resistance is heavy but manageable. The men are in good spirits. I'll write again when there's more to report. Commander Gideon

Rebecca's POV The first week after they left, I kept busy. The council met every morning to review supply chains and trade agreements that couldn't wait for the war to end. Nobles needed audiences, petitions needed reviewing, and the palace required a functioning government even with half its military gone. I threw myself into the work with a focus that surprised even me. Every decision, every signature, every judgment was a way to keep my mind from wandering to the border, to the fighting, to Gideon standing in the middle of it all with nothing but steel and strategy between him and a blade. But my body had other plans. The nausea started on the eighth day. I woke before dawn with my stomach churning, barely making it to the basin before everything came up. I knelt there on the cold floor, shaking, trying to convince myself it was stress or bad food or anything other than what I suspected. The next morning was the same. And the morning after that. On the eleventh day, I missed

Rebecca's POV I stood at the gates as dawn broke over the palace, the pale light casting long shadows across the assembled army. The knights lined up in perfect formation, their armor gleaming, their faces set with the particular expression men wore when they knew what was coming and had made peace with it. Behind them, the supply wagons waited, loaded with provisions and medical equipment that I hoped would be enough. The former Queen stood to my right, her posture rigid, her hands clasped in front of her. She had done this before, sent men to war, watched them leave and wondered which ones would return. I could see it in the way she held herself, the careful distance she maintained from anything that might crack her composure. Maddie was on my left, her face pale but determined. Kalali stood slightly behind us, her expression unreadable. She had offered to go with the army, to serve as their field alchemist, but I'd refused. I needed her here. I needed someone who understood pot

Rebecca's POV The war room smelled like parchment and steel. I stood near the window while Gideon hunched over the center table, mapping out routes with several senior knights. His fingers moved across the territory markers with practiced certainty, but I noticed the way his jaw stayed locked, the tension radiating through his shoulders. "The third battalion will hold the eastern pass," Gideon said, tapping a ridge on the map. "Second battalion supports from the valley. We push through before dawn and cut off their supply line." "What about their archer positions?" one of the knights asked. "We take those out first. Silent approach, no torches. Then the cavalry moves in." I watched him work, the way he commanded without raising his voice, the way the other men leaned in to catch every word. This was the version of Gideon the realm knew. The Iron Wolf. The man who had never lost a battle. But I knew the other version too. The one who let his guard down around me, who lingered a

Rebecca's POV The council chamber felt smaller than it should have, the walls pressing in as the argument built. Lord Cailen's voice cut through the noise, sharp and dismissive. "War," he said, leaning forward over the map spread across the table. "The point is clear. The King across the border has been waiting for an excuse, and now he has one." Another councilmember, a younger lord with a thin face and too much confidence, nodded sharply. "This isn't about the border anymore. It's about the entire kingdom. If we don't respond, they'll see it as weakness. They'll push further." I stood at the head of the table, my hands braced against the edge of the map, staring down at the lines and markers that meant nothing to me and everything to them. My voice came out steadier than I felt. "There has to be another way," I said. "Something other than war." The room went quiet. Not the kind of quiet that meant I'd said something brilliant. The kind that meant I'd said something they were a

Rebecca's POV The night had gone quiet in a way the palace rarely allowed. No knock at the door, no guard's footstep in the corridor, no distant echo of voices carrying through the stone. Just the low breath of the fire in the hearth and the particular stillness that settles over a place when the world has finally run out of things to demand from you. I sat on the edge of the bed, the crown set aside on the dressing table where I couldn't see it, and let myself be small for a moment. The gown was already half-unlaced, my hair loose around my shoulders, and the silence pressed against me like something living. Gideon came out of the adjoining room without his armor. Just his shirt, untucked, sleeves pushed to the elbows. He stopped when he saw me and didn't say anything right away, only read my face the way he always did. "You're not asleep," he said finally. "I tried." He crossed the room and sat beside me on the bed, close enough that his shoulder pressed against mine. The warm

Olivia's POV "I handle it fine," I said. "You're the one following me outside." Jolie walked forward until she was standing a few feet away. She took a sip of her wine, her movements precise and controlled. "Gabriel is a good man," she said. "He deserves someone who understands his world. Someone who has been part of it." "Someone like you," I said flatly. "Yes." Jolie didn't even try to hide it. "We grew up together. Our families built empires side by side. I know him. I know what he needs." "You know what everyone expects him to need," I corrected. "That's not the same thing." Jolie's smile was thin. "You are a distraction. An entertaining one, I will admit. But Gabriel will tire of the noise. He always does." "Then you have nothing to worry about," I said. I turned to face her fully. "If I'm just noise, if I'm just a distraction, then why are you out here threatening me?" "I am not threatening you. I am simply making sure you understand the parameters of whatever game you

Olivia's POV I was on my third glass of champagne when Marguerite appeared beside me. She hoisted herself onto the barstool with surprising agility for someone her age, waving away the bartender's attempt to help. "That woman is a leech," she announced. I didn't have to ask who she meant. I could still see Gabriel and Jolie on the dance floor, her hand on his chest, his face carved from stone. "She's known him longer than I have," I said. The champagne was making my words looser than I wanted. "She has history." "History is just another word for baggage that should have been thrown out years ago," Marguerite said. She snapped her fingers at the bartender. "Cognac. The 1952. Do not pretend you do not have it." The bartender's eyes widened. He disappeared into the back room. Marguerite turned to me, her sharp eyes scanning my face. "You are upset." "I'm fine." "You are a terrible liar. For an actress, that is concerning." I let out a breath that was half laugh, half something

Olivia's POV His grandmother's eyes widened. Then she laughed. It was a bright, cackling sound that made several people turn to look. "I like her," she declared. She reached for my hand and pulled me closer, ignoring Gabriel completely. Gabriel cleared his throat. "Grand-mère, this is Olivia Rayne," he said. "Olivia, this is my grandmother, Marguerite." "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Moreau," I said, smiling politely. "Please, call me Grand-mère," Marguerite said, her eyes twinkling. "And you are the actress, yes? The one who sings the song about the man who cannot appreciate her." "That's most of my discography," I admitted. Marguerite laughed again, loud and infectious. "Come. Sit with me. I want to hear about how you met my grandson. He has been a stone for too long. It is good to see him with someone who has fire." Gabriel opened his mouth to protest, but Marguerite was already pulling me toward a table near the front. I glanced back at him. He looked like he was calculating the f

Olivia's POV I woke up to forty-three texts from my publicist and a very formal email from someone named “Margot Blanchet, Personal Assistant to Mr. Gabriel Moreau.” Before I could open it, my phone kept vibrating. The first text was from Sasha.Sasha: Livvie. You and Gabriel Moreau??? Please tell me this is real. I need details and emotional support snacks. The second was from Pedro.Pedro: Remember when you said you wanted a challenge? Congratulations. You picked the final boss. Jolie Seraphine is trending and I regret every warning I ever gave you. I scrolled, waiting for one more name to pop up. Nothing. Of course. Brittany wasn’t a morning person. She never was. Then I finally opened the email. It was three sentences long. "Miss Rayne, a selection of appropriate gala attire will arrive at 2 PM. Please be ready for hair and makeup at 4 PM. Mr. Moreau will collect you at 6:30 PM sharp." I read it three times, looking for a single word that wasn't dipped in frost. There was

Olivia's POV Jolie froze. I caught her reflection in the polished surface of the table. Her perfect mask was finally cracking. She looked at Gabriel's hand on the back of my neck and then at the way I was draped across the table like a prize he had no intention of sharing. "I just wanted to ask about the gala tomorrow," Jolie said. Her voice was thin. "My father expected you to escort me as usual. He said the seating arrangements were already finalized." Gabriel slowly turned his head. He didn't let go of my neck. His thumb continued to trace slow, distracting circles against my skin. I felt my heart hammer against my ribs. This wasn't acting. Or if it was, he was much better at it than I gave him credit for. "Your father should have checked with my assistant," Gabriel said. He sounded bored. "I have other plans for the gala. I assume your friend with the property development interests can fill the vacancy." The man at Jolie’s table looked over. He looked like he wanted to say so

Olivia's POV The following week was a blur of strategically leaked "candid" shots and frantic phone calls from my label. Gabriel was a man of his word, which meant he was a man of very few words and very high expectations. He had dictated the terms of our first public appearance like he was brokering a peace treaty. No club. No tequila. Just a "quiet" dinner at a restaurant so exclusive it didn't even have a sign on the door. I sat in the back of his town car, smoothing the skirt of my dress. It was silk, the color of a bruised plum, and clung to every curve. I had traded the leather jacket for a tailored cashmere coat. I looked like a woman who knew the difference between a salad fork and a fish fork, even if I usually used neither. Gabriel sat next to me, his laptop open on his knees. He hadn't looked at me since I climbed in. "You know, usually when a man picks up a woman for a date, he tells her she looks nice," I said, leaning over to peek at his screen. "Or at least acknowl