Novels by Emel Emerald

Night hung outside, but Shayla Anderson did not sleep. Her desk was a war zone of papers and sheets scattered here and there, encrypted disks, burners, and an otherworldly blue glow on the LCD screen. Darkly smoking, only one desk lamp still lit, casting sharp shadows down her cheeks.Every keystroke was deliberate. Every question led her deeper into Samuel Blackwood's world of darkness.Sham sales in the form of "shipping manifests" managed gunrunning. Wire transfers in pyramids of shell corporations gulped money laundering. Imported drugs, diverted and counterfeited, exposed drug trafficking loops reaching three continents.It wasn't corruption. It was a crime kingdom.And Shayla wore its crown tonight.She compiled what she called The Black Ledger — a computerized and handwritten account of Samuel's misbehavior. Each transaction, each borrowed name, every foreign bank account, copied by hand, counted, and stored. A copy was encrypted on discs and stored in safe deposit boxes under

Morning rent brutally. Pewter gray engulfed Blackwood house in a stifling pall that would not breathe, as if it knew what was to be rent asunder.Sam Blackwood sat at the head of his own boardroom in the east wing, black coffee to one side, iced. The accountants and advisors arrived separately, each carrying a laptop, a tablet, and stacks of paper, They arrived silently, their din subdued, wincing."Sir… there has been a complication."Samuel didn't even glance up. Fingers tapped once over impossibly highly lacquered mahogany. "Complication," he growled, low and as cold as a sword in its sheath. "Or incompetence?"Samuel's finance director, a man of seventeen years with Samuel, swallowed hard. His hands shook as he put a tablet on the desk before Samuel. A screen glowed brightly. Columns of figures marched before it. Balance sheets. Transaction accounts."Gone, sir. Aurelio account. Two hundred and fifty million. Burned, stacked, diverted… gone. No trailable end. All wires to a vacuum

The plot did not arrive with thunder. It arrived on a breath — gentle, calculated, hardly noticeable until it had already occupied space. They met the night, when light outside the small apartment yielded to the drizzle-gray of oncoming evening. Leon and Aurora slept: Leon heaped upon his sister in a heap of warmth, Aurora's lashes curled into delicate twists. Their small, pinched lives beat for Leya, weak and sacred. That was what she was staking on a war. Shayla spread the papers on the kitchen table like one spreads out a map while Carrington loomed in the doorway, his cheeks stubbled, his eyes streaked with the exhaustion of one who'd spent six months digging through rotten mold Under the light, ae paers gleamed — corporate reports, shell company reports, coded bank reports, bogus project proposals written in creams and steel-grays that made catastrophe look respectable. We need smoke and mirrors, not bullets," said Shayla. Her voice was tight as a string. "He loves projects. H

Three days had went by, and then the detective reappeared, No squeak at the front door, no crunch of gravel underfoot on the driveway. He emerged from behind the house the specter, his topcoat collar up, satchel heavy with secrets.Shayla and Leya sat waiting, huddled in the black parlor. There was a small fire going, its red and golden coals radiating heat to illuminate the room. Night pressed against the house outside, thick as a doorman on the words that would be spoken within.Carrington set the satchel onto the chair, unbuckling it, and drew out a pile of heavy files. The papers looked ordinary, but they were packed with peril."Samuel Blackwood's kingdom," he snarled on, "is here."Shayla crept up first, slit eyes covetous. Leya sat back, fists clenched in her lap before she reached out hesitantly to the top file.There were names, numbers, papers — but there, underneath, a map of power.Samuel's empire reached far and wide. Import-export firms, shell companies in offshore haven

Air hung motionless, its silence thick with too much unseen to thump against its walls. All movement, the somnambulant dance of a candle on the table top, its wick rotating, zagging as a hurricane ripped downward through the shattered window. The wax oozed out in slow lumps, hardening in rigid pools — as if time itself hemorrhaged before it. Leya tensed, fists clenched over the letter. Thicker than paper, thicker than lies, it bore their father on it. Shayla sat perched above her, riding atop her sister's hand, their unspoken awareness searing. Silence stretched out before them, but within silence, memory entwined about them. --- Leya's head had whirled nine years ago. She was looking up at him once more — tall, broad-shouldered father, big presence that had engulfed the whole room at home. Cedar and ink in the far distance were what he always smelled, and his burning voice. He had summoned them to his study one evening, after his "trip." The lamp had thrown a golden shadow on the

The house was quiet. Too quiet.Beyond its doors, the city slept in a pale moon whose breathing was stifled by drawn curtains, Within, two sisters gazed at one another across the dollhouse dinner table, the letter with the father's signature between them like an irremovable curse from which neither would ever be free, The flames on the candles flickered, sending shadows dancing across their faces. Leya trembled as she filled cups with untouched tea while Shayla lay back, her eyes burning not with sorrow but something harder — anger, churned like molten metal in a crucible.They sat thus for a very long time.And Shayla spoke, quietly. Firm. Unyielding.He stole everything from us. Our home. Our father. Our shield. And we said nothing. Nine years, Leya. For nine years, we spoiled him with excess."Leya's own fist clenched the shattered teacup into a hard ball. She did not need to hear Shayla speak his name — Samuel Blackwood had made himself at home in her own personal hell for quite s

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?"