Novels by Oh Sehna

The Cabinet had convened. At its head sat Elias Wrenn, the true leader of this council. Unlike the others, he did not hide beneath a hood. His face was carved with age and authority, his eyes a piercing gray that saw far beyond the present. He was just as pale as Deverell himself.To his right, draped in sapphire and shadow, was Isolde Vexmoor. Her hair, black as crow feathers, was pinned in an old style no one dared wear anymore. Her lips were dark, her eyes darker. She said nothing as he entered, but the look she gave him made his fangs itch.While three others occupied the remaining seats: Lady Marcella, a woman draped in deep blue, her fingers adorned with rings that hummed with unseen power. Derek Cross, his arms crossed, his silver-blond hair falling over sharp, calculating eyes. Father Guillaume, the only one dressed in white, his presence silent but observant, the rosary in his hands was shifting like a living thing. Taking off his hood, Deverell took his place without a

The studio was silent aside from the soft hum of Luna’s computer and the rhythmic clicking of her mouse. The dim overhead light cast long shadows, givng the space a smaller feel than it had. She adjusted the exposure on yet another photo, her eyes scanning for imperfections, for blemishes. The pictures from the day before yesterday’s shoot needed to be submitted soon. Usually, she enjoyed this process—fine-tuning the details, working on the light and shadows, bringing out the depth of emotion in each frame. But tonight, her focus wavered. Because he was in them. Deverell Blackwood. A name that commanded attention. A man who thrived in the spotlight. And a man Luna had no interest in thinking about, especially after waking up in his house, wrapped in his clothes, with nothing but his cryptic words and her own rage echoing in her mind. She scowled, shaking the thought away. It had been a mistake. One she wouldn’t repeat. She leaned back in her chair, rolling the stiffness from he

The lights were too bright.Deverell sat on the edge of the worn-out leather chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his shirt rumpled from the previous scene. The set around him was silent now, just the quiet hum of cameras, the occasional murmurs from the crew, the hollow emptiness that came with the final day of filming.The last scene. The last time he would step into this role.Most actors felt a kind of grief when wrapping up a film, an ache for the character they had embodied for months, but Deverell felt nothing.The cameras cut. The world reset. And he walked away. As he always did.The director clapped his hands, voice booming across the space. “That’s a wrap! Congratulations, everyone!”Cheers erupted, some of the crew embracing, others already breaking down equipment.Deverell stood, slipping off the heavy coat he had worn for the scene, rolling his shoulders as he smiled at the producer approaching him. After an exchange of conversation, he grabbed his things.He had sear

The door clicked shut. Deverell exhaled slowly, staring at the now-empty hallway where Luna had disappeared.He had done the right thing. He had. Then why the hell did it feel like a mistake?He raked a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his skin. Everything about this situation was wrong.Luna Grimes was not supposed to be in his house, in his clothes, in his damn head.Yet the memory of last night lingered—the way her lips had felt against his, the heat of her body pressed against his, the unexplainable pull that had gripped him the moment she stepped into that makeup room.Her scent, unfamiliar, yet it crept in, riding his senses.A mistake. That’s all it had been. Thats what he wanted to believe.Deverell turned away from the door, only to stop short when he saw the tray of untouched food sitting on the small table near the bed. The hangover soup he had made for her. The coffee, still steaming.The toast, slightly burnt because he had been too distracted making s

The first thing she noticed was the sheets, they were soft, unfamiliar, and felt expensive.The second was the room, dark, minimalistic, or hollow of emotions, and nothing like her apartment.A slow, heavy pounding in her head reminded her of the alcohol still thick in her system. She groaned, shifting beneath the sheets, only to realize, "This isn’t my bed."A sharp breath left her lips as her body went rigid, her heart slamming against her ribs.She forced her eyes open, blinking through the haze, taking in the unfamiliar space she was in. The bedroom was spacious but cold, decorated in sleek blacks and deep grays. The air smelled faintly of something woody, expensive, and dangerously intoxicating.And then she looked down, at her own self under the sheets. She was not in her clothes from last night.Instead, she was wearing a loose black T-shirt and drawstring sweatpants, clothes far too large to belong to her.From the looks of them, they were men's clothing.Oh, hell no.Panic c

She should have left.She should have turned around, walked back through the curtain, and pretended she never saw him standing there, like that, half-dressed, pale, very pale skin illuminated by the dim backstage lighting.But she didn’t.and before she could realize, she moved towards him.Something in her chest was pulling, like a magnet drawn to something it shouldn’t be. Her pulse pounded in her ears, louder than the muffled music from the afterparty, louder than her own common sense.Deverell didn’t move.He just watched her, unreadable, his shirt hanging open, his breath slow and steady like he was waiting.She stopped just inches from him, her head tilting as she studied his face, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the impossible perfection of his features, the mouth that was slightly parted as if he had just exhaled a breath he hadn’t meant to take."So rude, so entitled...", she scrunched her eyes, her cheeks red from the drinks. Deverell tilted his head in amusement.What wa