Bella Staring Out Window Novels & Stories

Anya feels trapped in a world she doesn’t understand. Kidnapped by a mysterious man known only as The Watcher, she is pulled into a dark reality where her mind is twisted, and her identity begins to unravel. As he manipulates her thoughts, blurring the lines between fear and desire, Anya finds herself caught in a dangerous game of submission. The Watcher believes he is saving her, but his love is a sick obsession, filled with psychological torment. As Anya fights against his control, she realizes that the true horror lies not just in her captivity but in the way he haunts her mind, pushing her deeper into madness. Can she escape his grasp before she loses herself completely, or will she surrender to the darkness that calls to her? In this chilling tale of manipulation and madness, nothing is what it seems, and the line between love and control is terrifyingly thin.

My father, the Alpha King, did not want his daughter surrounded by Alphas chasing the throne, so he hid my identity and arranged for me to meet Adrian Vale, the young Alpha of the modest Silver Ridge Pack. Father said Adrian had real ability. Unlike the court Alphas who knew only how to flatter power, Adrian had taken control of his pack young and kept it stable. I wore a Chanel dress, a custom Cartier watch, a Hermès bag, and the moonstone bracelet my mother had left me. It was only a formal meeting, but since Father had arranged it himself, I chose to show respect. Before dinner could begin, Adrian's childhood friend, Molly Veyne, stormed into the private dining room. She called herself a gold-digger detector. Her eyes swept over my dress, my watch, my bracelet, and my bag before she laughed. "Adrian, look at her. She covered herself in luxury brands so you would think she came from noble blood." Adrian apologized and said Molly disliked women who dressed too loudly. I chose not to lose my temper. Then Molly dragged my Hermès bag under her shoe. "A bag worth this much? How could you afford it?" "Tell us, how many Alphas did you fool before you could pay for everything you are wearing?" "You dressed like a princess because you want an Alpha to put a Luna crown on your head." Her malice almost made me laugh. I looked at the moonstone bracelet on my wrist. Even if Silver Ridge sold every business it owned, Molly still might not be able to pay for what she had just touched.

Every time my husband's newly hired assistant underwent another cosmetic procedure, a new wrinkle appeared on my face. Leaning on her increasingly refined beauty, she rose effortlessly through high society, earning praise as an "ageless goddess." Meanwhile, I—the rightful lady of a wealthy household—aged so rapidly that in just three months, I looked like her mother. Clutching her cosmetic treatment bills in one hand and my medical report in the other, I confronted my husband. Instead, he shoved me to the ground, his eyes cold as ice. "Have you lost your mind?" he snapped. "You failed to take care of yourself, and now you're jealous of a subordinate who works harder and strives more than you?" Later, in order to secure a partnership with Sauldi Group, she agreed to their proposal for a "rejuvenation" experiment, undergoing a full-body stem cell anti-aging procedure. At home, my organs began to fail one after another. By the time anyone noticed, I was already dead. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the afternoon when she first flaunted her plans—boasting about getting her very first skin-boosting injection.

A rich scion of Jelthorne, Owen Waller, loves cycling. I am invited as a special guest competitor to take part in the cycling competition he organizes. But at the starting point, I see my wife, Reyna Cleveland, who brings along her junior, Timothy Spence, to compete. As soon as I walk over, she slaps me in front of everyone. She fumes, "Are you really this paranoid? Do you have to follow me wherever I go? Do you even know how to cycle? Why come here and make a fool of yourself?" I am just about to take out my invitation pass when Timothy lets out a derisive laugh. I smile in response and propose, "Then why don't we compete?" Timothy replies, "Sure. If I lose, I will jump into the lake and swim naked. But if you lose... You'll divorce Reyna!" I nod calmly. What they do not know is that I was once the most talented pro rider in the country.

When I was eight months pregnant, I received an anonymous email. The attachment was a security camera recording. In a dimly lit VIP booth at a bar, my husband — a vampire who had lived for three hundred years — was holding a human woman in his arms, kissing her. At the end of the video, the woman smiled and asked him, "Adrian, do you really love me?" Adrian's voice was low. "Of course." "Even though you're human, I'll make you the happiest vampire bride in the world." He had said those exact words to me ten years ago. In that moment, my hand rested on my belly. The baby kicked once. As if reminding me. It was time to wake up.

Book 3 of The Southern Werewolves Pack WARNING: Not a standalone book. The secret he kept for five years and the price he had to pay for it. Liam Blake, the Beta of Southern Werewolves Pack, has a secret of his own. He had found his mate at his sister's eighteenth birthday party but could not claim her because of their age gap, and the wars were raging on his pack’s doorstep when he found her. Five years later, his Luna, Mira, persuaded him to visit his sister, Anita, who is also the best friend of his mate, Jazmine Diaz. Liam seems to have everything planned after Anita invited him to spend the summer with her and Jazmine away from the city. Although things seem to go well, a certain someone joins the vacation, causing Liam to pick up his pace to get Jazmine. But Liam isn't the only one who has secrets to hide.

Book 1 of The Southern Werewolves PackShe hates what she is, but he worships her like the wolf worships the moon. The thing she has been keeping at bay is now clawing its way out. Mira Red spends her entire life dedicated to hunting those who wronged her in the past and makes them pay for the pain they had caused her. Considered as lethal and highly-skilled combine with a high bounty on her head, everyone wants to capture her dead or alive. Cohen Kingsley dedicates his life to hunting rogue werewolves and vampires, but when the Moon Goddess destines Cohen and Mira as fated mates, things change. Dark secrets unveil and the supernatural world isn't what it seems to be.

At a family gathering, my fiancée gently wiped her recently returned childhood friend’s mouth with a tissue right in front of me. “Sorry about that. Clairy had always been this thoughtful.” I nodded, then turned to her younger sister. I draped my jacket over her shoulders and fed her the shrimp I had just peeled. “If she was so thoughtful, I could not fall short on courtesy either.”

In a world where desire can be bottled and sold, Anji discovers the ultimate forbidden tool: the Essence. One drop was all it took to rewrite his identity, turning his ambition into a dangerous game of artificial attraction. As he climbs the corporate ladder using a power he doesn't fully understand, he catches the eye of his cold, untouchable boss. But in a life fueled by a synthetic drug, how can he ever know if his feelings—or the ones he inspires—are real? When the Architect of Desire comes to collect his due, Anji must decide if he is willing to trade his soul for a perfect, fabricated love.

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.