Novels by I.J Faeoma

“Of course, Celeste, I know that. I’m married to Alex, remember?” I lied, letting out a light, almost amused laugh as I stared into her dumb eyes. Or at least, what I wanted to believe were dumb eyes. In truth, this woman was anything but. There was a sharpness beneath her doll-like beauty, that made me feel like I should tread lightly. I hadn’t known this hospital belonged to Alex, but the revelation didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me, however, was seeing Celeste here. After the strange way I’d been introduced to her, I never thought I’d come across her again. And yet, here she was, standing before me like a ghost I couldn’t shake off. Celeste tilted her head slightly, her smirk never faltering, her gaze sharp and unwavering. “What are you doing here?” I froze. My mind scrambled for a lie. I couldn’t tell her I was here to see my mother. There was something about her that made my instincts scream danger—like she knew Beatrice. And if Beatrice had meant something to

I swallowed. “Mom, I can explain.”“What did you do?” I inhaled shakily, forcing myself to say the words— “I got married.” The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. And then— She coughed violently. I quickly patted her back, trying to soothe her as she drank another sip of water, still struggling to process what I’d just said. When she finally caught her breath, her eyes locked onto mine, filled with unreadable emotion. “You got married?” she repeated hoarsely. “I don’t understand. Am I… am I dreaming?” “You’re not.” I held her hand tightly. “I had to, Mom. You needed the operation. I couldn’t just let you slip away.” She exhaled shakily, her fingers pressing against her forehead. “You sacrificed your happiness… for me?” “It’s just for six months,” I whispered. “I’ll be fine.” Her pained expression shattered me. She exhaled again, rubbing her temples, then looked at me with new seriousness. “Who is he?” I hesitated. “Alexander Blackwood.”

Alexander’s voice was smooth, unbothered. “I need to shower.” Before I could react, his fingers curled around my arm, pushing me gently aside. Then, without another glance, he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door in my face. I blinked at the polished wood, stunned at how quickly he went from hot to cold. Oh well. What was I expecting? A heartfelt moment? No touching. That’s what the contract said. And yet, some foolish part of me had almost believed—No. Stop. Shaking off the ridiculous thought, I exhaled sharply. I needed to get out of here. Slipping out of Alexander’s bedroom, I scanned the hallway, my heartbeat picking up. The last thing I needed was to run into Gratia again. I tiptoed across the grand staircase, relief flooding me as I reached my bedroom door— “So, you don’t sleep in the same room as your husband?” I stiffened. That voice. Drew. His tone was silky, teasing, yet something about it felt… off. Slowly, I turned. He leaned lazily agai

The chaos still echoed through the mansion like distant thunder. Alexander had nearly erupted. His fury, raw and volcanic. His voice had dropped to a deadly calm as he stood before everyone, a storm contained only by sheer will. “If you ever touch her again,” he’d said through clenched teeth, “I’ll make sure the lawsuit buries you so deep, not even your name survives it.” The silence that followed was suffocating. Drew and his mother didn’t dare move. Adrenaline still surged in my veins as I escaped the tension, slipping away into the dining hall. I sank onto one of the velvet sofas, my pulse still racing, my cheek faintly stinging from Gratia’s slap. Nadia sat across the room, her hands gently cradling her swollen belly. Her green floral gown clung delicately to her figure, the soft fabric blooming around her like spring. Her hair, swept into a neat knot, bore an eerie resemblance to Gratia’s. She looked at me, eyes brimming with sympathy. “I’m so sorry,” she said sof

It seemed I’d be cocooned in the comfort of his room tonight. Alexander’s cold voice still echoed in my ears, lingering like a cruel aftertaste from everything that had happened in the dining hall. We had no other choice at least not if we wanted to keep up appearances in front of his stepmother, Gratia. Sleeping in separate rooms would only raise suspicion. And so, I found myself standing awkwardly in his space for the first time. His room was nothing like mine. Where mine was airy and soft, his was dark, bold, unapologetically masculine. The scent of sandalwood and musk wrapped around me the moment I stepped in intoxicating, commanding, and undeniably him. Alexander moved toward the bed, casually tossing extra pillows at the center as a divider. His eyes flicked to me, cold and unreadable. “So,” he said flatly, “there’s no way I’m sleeping on the floor. The bed’s big enough for both of us. You stay on your side.” I crossed my arms tightly. “So we’re just going to pre

One could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed Alexander’s announcement. But the first to recover was his stepmother. She rose slowly from her seat like a queen at court. Elegant, commanding, yet seething beneath her well-maintained exterior. Her raven-black hair, streaked with a whisper of grey, was swept into a sleek chignon, but no amount of sophistication could disguise the venom in her blur eyes as they raked over me. Her voice dripped with disdain. “If this is some kind of joke, Alex, I suggest you end it immediately.” Then her gaze sliced back to me cold and dissecting. “We all know Beatrice left you long ago. What did you do this time? Blackmail her into coming back? Threaten her?” I stiffened, my heartbeat thudding against my ribs. “And let’s not pretend,” she continued with an acidic smile, “that your aversion to commitment and your habit of replacing women like you change your suits is a secret.” Her gaze traveled slowly over me again, like a

“I think you should leave him,” Lana said, grabbing Damian’s hand, her fingers curling tightly around his wrist as if trying to anchor him before he could explode again. But it was too late. The chaos from earlier still clung to them like smoke. What was meant to be a simple movie night had turned into a mess—a disaster, really. They had barely settled into their seats at the cinema, trying to enjoy Love the Drum by Doones, when the situation spiraled. Lana had just reached for her popcorn when an overly bold stranger leaned in too close, his fingers brushing hers under the guise of accidental contact. She hadn’t even fully processed what happened when Damian stood, cold rage flashing in his eyes. The next thing she saw was his fist connecting with the guy’s jaw, hard and merciless. People had gasped, security rushed in, and the entire moment collapsed into chaos. Now, they were seated in a dim booth at Iraq Pacts, the low hum of conversations and clinking glasses offering som

“You better hurry,” he said with a smirk, his gaze dragging over me in that arrogant way that made my skin prickle. I bit my tongue, swallowing the sharp retort on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I folded my arms and lifted a brow. “Oh well, I can’t dress up with you watching me.” Damian leaned against the doorframe, completely unfazed. “Okay then. I guess we’ll be here all night, because I have no plans of turning around or going to the sitting room. It’s boring there. I’d rather stay here.” I sucked in a slow breath, realizing he was dead serious. He really wasn’t going anywhere. He wanted me to— “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.” His voice was smooth, teasing, laced with something that made my pulse tick faster. I narrowed my eyes. “Oh, so that’s what this is about?” He shrugged, that damned smirk never leaving his face. “Oh yeah.” For some stupid reason, maybe frustration, maybe defiance, I let out a quiet breath and let the towel in my hand drop. I barely re

Lana forced herself to breathe as she settled back into her chair, her fingers curling slightly against the smooth surface of her desk. Damian’s words still echoed in her mind—We have a long day ahead of us. He had said it with that usual commanding tone, the one that left no room for arguments. And she hadn’t argued. Instead, she had done the only thing she could—walked out of his office, shut the door behind her, and returned to her assistant’s desk, as if nothing had just happened between them. But now, alone with her thoughts, the problem remained. I can’t take him to Trisha’s place. That’s impossible. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. There was no way she could let Damian meet Trisha—not when Trisha knew her secret, not when she was the only one who had helped her weave the web of lies she now lived in. He couldn’t meet Trisha, not now, not ever. But then there was Zito Whitehawk The name sent a shiver through her as she leaned back in her chair, staring blankly at her l

The air was thick, charged with something dangerous, something exhilarating. Damian’s lips were on hers, his grip firm yet intoxicating. The world outside his office didn’t exist, only the heat, the tension, the way his body pressed into hers. Her fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, hungry, lost. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. She was supposed to leave, to put distance between them. But here she was, melting under his touch, tilting her head back as his lips traveled down the column of her throat. A sharp voice from outside the office snapped reality back into place. “I own this place too, you know! You have no idea who I am, i will have you fired so move.”“Ma’am the boss wasn’t expecting you”A small voice pleaded from outside. Lana’s stomach dropped. Someone was coming. The door flung open just as Damian straightened, his expression a mix of irritation and forced composure. Lana, still breathless, tried to push past the mortifying reality o

“Please… let me go.” Adrian’s voice was hoarse, raw from months of pleading. His throat burned, his lips cracked and dry. The damp air of the room clung to his skin, thick with the stench of urine, blood, and something rotting. A shadow moved before him. He couldn’t see it—his eyes were covered—but he felt its presence, looming, suffocating. A sharp click. The unmistakable sound of a camera shutter. “No, no, no—what are you doing?” Adrian thrashed against the restraints, the metal biting deeper into his skin. His wrists were torn, his ankles swollen. He tried to jerk away, but the rough sack over his head scratched against his bruised face, suffocating him further. A deep, amused chuckle filled the room. “I’m not the one you should beg,” the man said. Adrian’s chest tightened. The voice was cold, detached, yet oddly entertained. “Is it Lilith?” His voice cracked. “You people have taken everything from me.” “Not everything.” The words sent a chill through him. He cle

The air was thick with the stench of damp stone and decay. Adrian Sinclair lay on the cold concrete floor, his wrists raw from the tight metal cuffs that bound him. The dim light flickered overhead, barely illuminating the cramped space he had been thrown into. His head ached, his body stiff from weeks—months?—of confinement. He had lost track of time. The only sounds were the distant dripping of water and the occasional shuffle of footsteps beyond the iron door. The place smelled of mold, of unwashed bodies, of something metallic—blood, maybe. His own, or someone else’s, he wasn’t sure. He exhaled sharply, shifting slightly. Pain lanced through his ribs. Probably bruised, if not broken. A reminder of the last time they had come for him. They never spoke much, his captors. Only orders, only demands. “Eat.” “Stay still.” “Talk.” But Adrian had learned long ago that silence was his greatest weapon. If they wanted him to break, they would have to work harder. A scrape echoed th