Novels by Emel Emerald

---Blackwood Mansion – One Hour Before MidnightMost of the mansion slept.But Leya woke up.Quietly. Barefoot. With one candle's light in her hand.The tile chill bit at her toes, walking by the portraits whose eyes followed her, by the grandfather clock that had lost its sense of time decades ago. Her own steps were slow and careful, as if the walls of the house would wake up and ring out an alarm to wake the others.The silence in the house was not peace.It was a facade for danger.She stood at the end of the hallway—the one that curved around the servants' pantry and into the wall no one ever challenged. It was a dead end on every map she had ever studied.To her,For in Blackwood Mansion, dead ends were secrets that had perfected the art of seeming to be doors.She jammed her hand against the fretted lion's face on the weathered face of the old grandfather clock. Its cracked face warped slightly under pressure.> Click.There was a soft hiss of trapped breath within.And the pa

Two Months Ago — Samuel Blackwood's Private StudyThe fire in the hearth was too smoldering to warm the room, but it flared up fiercely in the iron grill with a bad will-a good bad will, as all the rest of the Blackwood house.Harrison stood stiff before it, shoulders squared, jaw locked tight enough to ache."I don't need a wife," he said again, as if the repetition would tilt the ground under his feet.Samuel didn't even look up at the decanter of brandy. "You don't need a wife. You need a legacy."He poured the drink into crystal—measured, controlled. A performance, not a pour.Harrison laughed. "And this is your concept of legacy? Marriage to some desperate nobody so I can impress the board?"No, Samuel spoke softly, putting down the decanter on the side table with a snap. "This is my idea of pruning."Harrison's eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?""You've been flowering like a weed, boy. Playing as if inheritance were heredity by blood. But blood will not buy land. Discipline will

Blackwood Estate — MorningThe sun rose as the sun had risen previously—its light filtering through leaded glass windows, flowing over gold trim and old frames. But the warmth never reached the opposite side of the house.Not to where Leya was, in bare feet on a cold kitchen floor at 5:03 a.m., elbow-deep in soapy water.She'd risen early, before the birds broke day. Her day started before sunup and late in the moonlight that poured on the walls of stone.She worked quietly, the sounds nothing more than clinking dishes and the whistling steam that popped off the stove.Vivian had addressed her so bluntly only three days before:> "You're no longer served here. You serve."And so she did.Because the contract that held her in line did not merely address her as Harrison's wife.It addressed her as the guardian of her family.Two months before, Samuel Blackwood had written a check large enough to hush the wolves barking outside her mother's front porch. Her family's $300,000 debt had van

Two Months Ago — Samuel Blackwood's Private StudyThere hadn't been one of those yelling, yelling storms in the weather that night, but there was a storm in Samuel Blackwood's study: live, with promise of hidden harm and weight-laden decision.Harrison stiffened before the fire, hands locked across chest, jaw bunched."I don't need a wife," he snarled."You need discipline," Samuel said, not raising his eyes.He poured metallic brandy into a crystal glass. The same glass he used whenever he was signing terms—never to accept them."And what is she?" Harrison sneered. "A leash?""No," Samuel replied. "She's a mirror."Harrison's eyebrows collapsed."Of what?""How about what happens to you when you wield power as a right and not a duty?"The fire spat. The air froze.Samuel turned around, his hand closed around a piece of paper. Thick paper. Blackwood seal. Older binding legal than both of them."The marriage contract for one year. She gets protection. You get the share of the estate yo

The house never slept.It loomed over them.Even resting, it gasped like a beast, cold and warm in the wrong spots. Creaking at joints. Glaring at them.Leya no longer jumped at its creaks.She was too tired to.Her mop had been wet, pale water in the bucket she had carried down the marble corridor. Her back ached. Her knees pounded. The insidious burn of ammonia stuck to her forearms like something that she couldn't shake off.She had washed the baseboards. Sconces covered in gilt moldings that no one so much as glimpsed. Boiling cabbage and eggs for Eleanor's first breakfast in the dark early morning, and filling Vivian's mug from bent head and shaking hands,, which had not relaxed since the third washing.> And no one ever had dared face her.For she was no longer mistress in the house.She was its shadow.It's cleaner. It's chef. It's a ghost.She hadn't complained.She couldn't.---Flashback – Two Months EarlierShe could still hear the tone of her mother's voice when the envelo

The house remained silent. But utterly differently. This was a different sort of silence. One that felt… intentional. As though the very quietness had been orchestrated—like flowers at a funeral. Leya leaned against the railing at the end of the second-floor hall, squeezing out a dripping rag along the banister. Water dripped down the oaken rails, tapping the marble below it like a metronome. She no longer felt the jaggedness of her spine. Or perhaps the scent of bleach was still in her fingernails. All she could feel was shadows. Stationary chairs. Rumbled rugs. Open books on tables that no one was going to take the trouble to pick up. > She was being watched. But this time, as opposed to the first, they weren't intimidating her with power. They were watching her to see if she'd break. If the shame would at last take root. If the mask slips. Leya smiled to herself as she buffed a brass doorknob until it shone. Let them watch. She had learned as a child how to become

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?"