Novels by Ivy_Winters

(Pamela)..THE WEIGHT OF the contract in my hands is a constant reminder that this is a very big mistake. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't even be entertaining this ridiculous offer.But I find myself still skimming through the terms of the contract. It's a whooping 12 pages and each page ends up being worse than the last one.Massimo is seated across from me. He doesn't say anything but his eyes speak volumes. I can’t bear to look at him so I focus on the document that I'm holding.“Let me get this straight,” I begin, my voice shaky. “You want me to give up two years of my life, parade around as your wife, and pretend to be part of some picture-perfect family ... all to make you look good in the eyes of the media?”“It's not just about me,” Massimo responds in a calculated tone. “Like I said earlier, it's also about Erik. He needs a home. Stability. Safety. You can’t give him that alone.”My chest tightens as his words strike a nerve. “You don't know what I can or can't give him.”

(Massimo)..I ANGRILY TOSS the tabloid and it clatters with a loud sound onto my desk. I can’t believe it but the headline is still there for the past two hours:Heartless Billionaire Steals Baby from Grieving Aunt.What. the. Hell ?“This is a PR nightmare,” my publicist, Veronica, says as she paces the office. “We need damage control and we need it now.”I slowly rub my temples in an attempt to stop the migraine from coming in full force. It all feels like some sort of prank. What idiot would publish such a ridiculous article against me?For years, I have managed to keep my family affairs out of the news. But I’ve been so preoccupied with the court case to have paid attention and this one had slipped right under my nose.“What do you suggest?”Veronica stops in front of my desk, a frown on her face. That means the gears in her head are already working.“A story,” she says at last. “Something that shows you’re not the villain they think you are.”I glance back at the tabloid. The a

(Pamela)..I’M SEATED at my kitchen table, a bowl of mushroom soup in front of me. But I’m not looking at my plate, rather at the thick stack of legal documents right next to the bowl. My hands tremble as I read the name at the top: Massimo D’Amato.I can barely breathe.“You’re joking, right?” I ask no-one in particular. I’m still finding it hard to believe that that man had actually kept to his words.His last statement echoes through my head and I shiver slightly: See you in court.Erik lets out a soft whimper from his crib, right next to the couch, where I can keep a close eye on him from the kitchen. It’s as if he can sense my distress at everything that’s been happening.Clara, another one of my childhood friends, leans against the counter. She doesn't look too happy either. “I wish I were. They’re coming after Erik, Pam. They’re going to fight tooth and nail.”I get up from the table and begin to pace around the tiny space of my apartment. My head is already aching from think

(Pamela)..MY MOUTH FALL open at what I’d just heard.I can’t believe my ears. Did he just say full custody? Or had I heard wrong?“Excuse me?” I ask, just to be sure.A mask passes over his face and he watches me closely, as if he’s trying to figure out my reaction. He’s still standing over me, his tall frame casting shadows over me against the bright overhead lights. “Excuse me?!” I repeat, my voice sharper now.His gaze narrows slightly, but I don’t care. The audacity of his words hangs in the air, suffocating me.“You think you can just waltz in here, claim ‘full custody,’ and walk out with my sister’s baby like he’s some kind of prize?” My voice trembles, but I press on.I rise to my feet, ignoring how small I feel compared to his towering figure. “Where were you when my sister was struggling? When she needed support? And now that she’s gone, you—” My voice cracks, but I force myself to continue, “you think you can make decisions about her child without even considering me? Wi

(Pamela)..I HAVE BEEN crying for the past two hours.Maybe even longer because I lost count. The tears keep pouring uncontrollably, and I keep digging into my handbag to pull out more tissue wipes. The same bag that my little sister, Anna, had gifted me on my last birthday. The memory brings a fresh round of tears to my eyes.I still can’t believe that I won’t see Anna ever again. It’s as if I’m in a nightmare that just doesn’t want to end. I desperately want to wake up, to hold my little sister again, to stroke her long, black hair and tell her that everything is going to be OK. But everything is not going to be OK. Because Anna is dead now.She died three hours ago, while pushing out her baby. I thought she was going to make it. She had a very determined look on her face that I have never seen before. I had even held her hand throughout the delivery process, whispering words of encouragement in her ears.“You can do this Anna,” I whispered. “Just one last push.”“Yes, Anna,” the