Novels by Zenrict14

“What do you mean?” I asked Damien, stopping myself from falling back into thoughts of Eric.“You don't really have a choice,” he started, holding up a document I hadn’t noticed before. “I took permission from Mr. Callahan.”If I’d been drinking anything, I would have choked.“You took permission to stalk my ex?”He gave me a look like I was being dramatic. “Correction—our exes. And it’s not stalking if it’s for work.”I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or annoyed. On one hand, it wasn’t something worse—like some new twist involving Eric. On the other hand, it meant I’d have to confront reality. And that reality was Eric.Still, some part of me was relieved. Because not knowing anything about the man who might be the father of my child? That was scarier than facing him.“So, do I have your consent to start our field trip tomorrow?” Damien drawled.I rolled my eyes. “Like you care about consent.”He just smirked. “You’re right. I don’t. See you tomorrow.”I didn’t respond, and he s

Looking back, I should have known Eric Thompson would wreck me.Even meeting him started with a disaster waiting to happen. And I remember exactly how it began.A Few Months AgoMr. Callahan is the kind of editor every reporter dreams of having. He’s like that funny bachelor uncle who makes family gatherings bearable. But he’s only human, and sometimes, even he caves under pressure from his superiors.That day, he stormed into the office, eyes blazing, and dropped his tablet onto my desk without a word."See?" He stabbed a finger at the headline flashing across the screen.ERIC THOMPSON: HEIR TO A LEGACY OR JUST ANOTHER PLAYBOY?It was familiar—because the sole subject of the article I was working on at that very moment was also Eric Thompson."I see it," I said slowly, wondering if he was testing my eyesight or trying to make a point."And you don’t even know what you did wrong," he said, voice tight with frustration.I frowned. "I can’t seem to figure it out."His eyes narrowed. "Ho

I’ve always believed I had my life under control. Nothing spirals unless I let it.I’m not rich, but I have a stable job—enough to feed my cravings and fund my Target shopping sprees. That counts for something.But, like every tragic heroine in a drama, I realize now—control was only ever an illusion.Eric Thompson walked out of my life with a painful exit. Damien Carter waltzed in like he owned the soundtrack to my downfall. And somehow, he’s the one pulling all the strings.I came to this conclusion while watching Damien smiling at my near-death experience. As if he had planned everything down to the second, he stood up, nodding like a perfect presidential candidate—except he was a liar and a con man.“I’ll be leaving now,” he said, flashing an annoyingly perfect smile.My mother, who had apparently forgotten that I almost died choking because of them, returned his smile with her best mother-in-law-to-be expression.“You should. It’s getting late already,” she agreed sweetly. “We’ll

I used to love Tuesdays. Not the morning part, obviously. But the evening? That was my favorite—dinner with my mom, a good meal, and an hour-long update on my life. The only downside? Her relentless attempts to set me up on blind dates. (A tradition I could really do without.)That was before Eric Thompson happened.Now that the Eric Thompson era is officially over, I have two equally horrible options:1. Brace myself for a fresh round of blind dates.2. Tell my mother I’m pregnant.Both are terrible. So, naturally, I choose to do neither—at least until Eric knows he has a fetus out there with his name on it. Call it closure, or call it my inability to move on from a fling. Either way, I’m stalling.And yet, here I am, on a Tuesday evening—the one part of the week I actually enjoy—except someone is ruining it.Sitting beside me in a not-so-fancy restaurant, waiting for my mother, is none other than Mr. I Like to Meddle himself—Damien Carter.How Did This Happen? Let’s RewindI was at

I took my seat at my desk, trying to pretend like I wasn’t still thrown off by Damien’s presence. The morning’s chaos had faded, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bigger was brewing. "So, what exactly are we looking into with this Thompson project, anyway?" I asked, trying to sound as though I had a solid grasp on what I was doing.Damien leaned against the desk, now entirely comfortable in his own element. "Well," he began, "We’re digging into the depths of the Thompson family’s finances, scandals, and a little bit of dirty laundry. Think of it as a treasure hunt, but instead of gold, we’re finding secrets."I glanced up from my computer, a little stunned by how casually he spoke about something so... big. "I feel like I’m supposed to be scared right now," I said, voice flat.Damien’s grin only grew. "You should be. But don’t worry. I’ll be your guide through the dark, twisted world of corporate corruption."I rolled my eyes. "Great. Just what I need—another guy acting

It was too early for this. Too early for Damien Carter, too early for professionalism, and definitely too early for Jenna’s level of enthusiasm. I had barely set my bag down at my desk when I felt the all-too-familiar buzz of my phone. It was a text from Jenna, and I knew, with the kind of dread only a co-worker who could create a scene anywhere could inspire, that I was about to be dragged into something. Jenna (11:34 AM): “Emergency. Coffee machine down. I’m dying. Pls, fake an emergency. STAT. 🙏🏽” I stared at the message. I could already hear the drama in her voice. She’d never been one to keep her near-death coffee experiences quiet. With a resigned sigh, I typed out my response: Me (11:34 AM): “You’re a grown woman, Jenna. Deal with it.” Jenna (11:35 AM): “I’m in a life-or-death situation here. I need the emotional support of my work wife.” I groaned, but just as I was about to reply with something sarcastic, I heard it: a loud, overly dramatic thud followed by a string