Novels by Emel Emerald

The Morning After — Blackwood Mansion Grounds The sun tried but failed to cut through the clouds that morning, its beam yellow and subdued, as though cautioned not to burn too bright on this planet. Fog curled over the lawn in a pall, low-floating and enigmatic, over statues and fountains set out singly along the paths of the garden like forsaken memories. Leya lay among the roses, elbows resting in the soil. Not digging. Just. Being. Cold earth concentrated her. Silence gave room for thought. She'd fought to stay alive for three weeks—now she could build something out of sparks. She wasn't naive enough to hope to leave this house unscathed right off the bat. No, if she were going to break out of this house alive—really alive—then she must wait. Wait and demonstrate. And fangs. The chill seeped into the sleeves and the ends of her fingers. She did not crash to the floor, though. Not when she heard Eleanor's gentle laughter outside the west windows. Not when she caught H

Morning came—but nothing was new. The sun struggled weakly through the curtains, filtering down to stone floors still holding remnants of the shadows cast last night. In a house like the Blackwood mansion, nothing ever really changed. Walls didn't merely hold people—They held silence, secrets, and sins. But deep within those walls, everything changed. Something had broken. Something was going to be born. West Wing Lounge – 7:00 A.M. Harrison stood before the fireplace, arms folded on his chest, watching ashes dance as dying suns. He had not slept. He did not need to. The buzz of breakfast cooking was from far down the halls, but where he sat in silence with worry. The door opened without apology. Nathaniel stood, coat still on, face unyielding. He shut the door, movements too planned, too measured. "You were with her," Harrison accused, not even bothering to turn around. Nathaniel was silent. There was no use for him to do anything else. "She's manipulating you," Harrison

The mansion fell softly again. Tonight, silence did not frighten Leya. Tonight, permission was the formality. She dressed with purpose—not out of fear, but because she knew details were essential. Black pants. Pullover pushed high. Topcoat light for the part of the night but precisely what the message required. Not hiding. Not running. Walking proudly as if this world belonged to her at her feet. The burner phone rang again. Nathaniel: Back gate to the yard. Ten minutes. Nobody in sight. Leya stuffed the phone into her jacket pocket, smoothed her hair again, and stood before the mirror. "Back" just managed to squeeze out the word. She didn't look like the captive girl Harrison had held. She looked like something born of agony. The bruises remained—the pale yellow and blue smudges across the curve of her ribs, her collarbone, and jaw. No longer embarrassed. They were proof. Proof. She survived. She floated. Down. The. Hall. Bare feet silent. The east wing. Empty. Even

The whisper had stopped. But the silence that followed wasn't silence. It was charged. With purpose. With intent. Leya did not lie well once the voice had stopped—her body outstretched on the bed, back tense against the headboard, every hair on her arms bristling not due to fear, but due to awareness. Not every step is a threat. But there are warnings. And the one that had named her tonight. It hadn't been trying to scare her. It had been trying to communicate something. That she was still being watched. And perhaps—perhaps—that someone still cared that she was worth at least something. That cut deeper at her chest than splintered ribs. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, seething an angry glare at where the door had existed once in the darkness. Someone had whispered her name as if it still held meaning. And that was what disturbed her most. Because it meant there was someone in this house who still thought she was worth whispering about. And that? That m

The voice continued. Soft. Tuned. Familiar—and otherwise. "Leya…" A breath—neither cold nor warm. Did not command, did not scold. Was. Like a stretched bowstring pulled taut behind her at her back. She blinked, sight blurring through fever and weariness, but her backbone firmed—beneath, a little. Her fingers clenched into a blanket on her lap, fine cloth now armor, her foothold in the world. > Who was it? They didn't knock the second time. Didn't stir. I just stood there long enough for her to regain her breath. Long enough for her to realize this hadn't been a mistake. And then, nothing. A withdrawal in silence. The steps light. Stealthy. Commanding. No squeak of the door. No sound of retreating feet. But the tension beyond had changed. As if something had looked at her. Listened to her. Comprehended her. And that had scared her. Not because it had threatened. But because it hadn't. Because for the first time in what had seemed like forever… Someone had said her

Nathaniel was awake. Not that night. After he'd left Leya at the mansion, her silence armor, he'd headed to the east wing. Where the paintings were, where the button-down-bloke blokes with dead eyes in frames—false gods in frames. He didn't switch on the hall light. Didn't switch it on. The weight of her words fell behind him like footprints. I don't need saving, Nathaniel. I need respect. He stood beside the bed, suit jacket still buttoned, tie open but not yet undone. He gazed at the floor for what had to be minutes or maybe hours. He imagined Leya's bruised cheek. Imagine her shaking hands from exhaustion. Recall her eyes—not wide with terror, but level with fire. If she was a fake, then she was the family's finest work. But in a part of him, he knew she wasn't. Still… in the Blackwood house, believing wasn’t enough. You had to be certain. --- The Next Morning – Nathaniel’s Study The morning sun didn’t warm him. He made the call anyway. “St. Delacroix University,

The Last Battle – Axel's Final Stand The triplets burst into Audrey's apartment, closing the door. Audrey sat in the middle of the room, holding herself, face white. Jasmine gave her a quick glance. "You okay?" Audrey nodded but winced her hands. Jayla sighed deeply. "You should have mentioned it when he called." Audrey gazed down. "I thought I could handle it." Jade snorted. "Not with Axel. He doesn't listen to no." Jasmine stood by the window, narrowed eyes intently focused as she gazed out. Then she froze. Outside, in front of the window, on the street, a black car. A dark figure in the car. Watching. Waiting. Her heart was pounding. He was here. She spun to her sisters, low voice, resolute. "He's outside." Audrey's eyes widened. "What?" Jayla leaped to the window to look out. Jade cursed under her breath. "That psycho." Jasmine breathed slowly, deeply, attempting to soothe herself. She wasn't scared. She was angry. Axel had done enough already. Sarah was d

The Final Stand – Axel's Last Gamble Audrey was on her couch in her apartment, frowning at her phone, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. Her gut clenched. She knew who it was. The second it started ringing she knew. A shiver ran down her spine, her heart racing. Axel. He was calling her. She swallowed hard, her fists tight. She had blocked him. Had changed her routine. Had tried to close him out of her life. And yet. He'd somehow come back anyway. The ringing stopped. A voicemail message showed up. She was breathing irregularly as she hit play. And then his voice was smooth and even, weighted with something sinfully wicked bouncing off of the walls. "Audrey he said, did you really think I'd let you go that easily?" Her blood went cold. "We both know you still think of me. Of us." Her fists clenched on the phone. No. No, she didn't. She wouldn't. She couldn't. "I gave you your space. I let you pretend. But it's time to come home, sweetheart." Audre

The Fall of a Legacy – Their Father Is Brought to Account Their father slumped in the interrogation room, the stark metal table between him and the detectives. For the first time in his life, he was not in charge. His expensive attorneys weren't going to get him out of this today. His influence, his name, his power—it meant nothing now. The seasoned detective dropped a file onto the desk, reopening it. Pictures. Documents. DNA tests. It all lay before him. "You drew up official papers," the detective said, his own voice tightly controlled. "You drew up fake papers and left your firstborn daughter to live and live comfortably. His father's jaw clenched. The detective continued, "And because of that, Sarah spent her entire life believing she wasn't wanted." A bitter silence. "And now she's dead." For a moment—a fleeting moment—something passed through his father's eyes. Regret? Guilt? Maybe. But too little, too late. The detective leaned in.

The Last Truth – A Mother's Justice The triplets were in their mother's living room, the weight of what they had to say very much on their minds. Their mother sat opposite them, her fists clenched on the armrests of the chair while her face was set in stiff lines. Jasmine took a deep breath. "Mom… we've got something to say." Jayla leaned forward. "Something about Dad." Jade sighed. "And Sarah." Her mother's eyebrows jerked with horror when she said the name Sarah. "What about her?" Jasmine's voice was constricted, but she fought to say something. "She was our sister." Their mother's breath stalled. Her hand gripped the chair as her knuckles turned white. No one uttered a word for a second. Then, in a whisper just above a murmur— "What did you just say?" Jayla swallowed hard. "Sarah… she was Dad's daughter." Jade paused before saying again, "His first daughter." Their mother turned white. "That's not… that's not possible." Jasmine pulled out the pro

The Aftermath – Shadows of the Past The triplets sat in silence, the weight of the news pressing down on them. Sarah was dead. And even after everything she had done. Even after the lies, the betrayals, the destruction It didn’t feel like a victory. Jade let out a slow breath, staring at the floor. “I thought I’d feel… relieved.” Jayla shook her head, her voice quieter than usual. “Me too.” Jasmine's clutch on her cup of coffee spasmed. "She was our sister." Jayla grumbled unwillingly. "Half-sister." Jasmine shut her eyes. "It doesn't matter." For in the end, Sarah had been as lost as they had once been. The difference? She never had her way back. Fraser and Tressa – A New Beginning, or a New Threat? Tressa turned a lock of hair around her finger, watching out the apartment window. "She's really gone," she murmured. Fraser, who stood behind her, let out a deep sigh. "Yeah." Tressa’s chest tightened. Sarah had been many things—an enemy, a rival, a storm in human form.

The Aftermath – A New Future, A Lingering Past Sarah retreated from the front door of Fraser's, her heart pounding in her ears. She'd dreamed to herself for months that she might possibly be able to fix what she'd broken. That she could win him back. But now? Now, she knew more. She'd been too late. Fraser's moved on. And not with someone. With Tressa. A woman as clever, as cunning, as smart as Sarah used to be. Sarah's fists clenched. She'd lost before. But this? This was not the same. This had been done. And she was not so sure that she could do that. And meanwhile – Fraser and Tressa's New Beginning Tressa shut the door, breathing softly as she smiled at Fraser. "A knight?" she said, regarding him. Fraser rubbed at his hair, jaw locked. "That was. unexpected." Tressa smiled, leaning on the wall. "Seriously? You didn't think she'd come crawling back sooner or later, or something?" Fraser breathed slowly. "Part of me did, yes. But that moment I just saw her?"