Novels by Peaceso

Following Nicholas' abrupt "investment" in the art center, the days went by in a tense cadence. I should have been ecstatic to see my haven turning into a building site for upgrades. However, I couldn't get rid of the anxiety that coiled inside me every time I heard Nicholas's voice booming through the building or saw the sleek black town car pull up outside.The strain was higher at home, or what I was meant to call "home."In that vast penthouse, Nicholas had always kept his distance. Though occasionally, I questioned whether he did it on purpose, keeping us apart as though the less time we spent together, the less genuine this whole arrangement would seem; we were like ships passing in the night. But despite his efforts to maintain his distance and coldness, something was changing.His eyes lingered when he believed I was not looking, and I could tell.I was alone in the kitchen one evening, gazing at the microwave's blinking clock. Even though it was late, the penthouse's silence

Oil paints, turpentine, and the art center's subtle earthy fragrance of clay were constantly present. No matter how chaotic life got, I could always find serenity in that scent. I let familiarity overwhelm me as soon as I entered that morning. The space was unpretentious; paint-splattered tables, worn easels, and cracked tiles revealed years of arduous labor. "Cassie!" One of my art teachers, Nina, came out of the rear studio with her wavy hair clumsily tied up with a red scarf. "The furnace is misbehaving once more. It has a consciousness of its own, I promise. I let out a sigh. "We'll get by. Tell the students to dress in layers for the time being. Later, I'll call the repairman.”My phone buzzed in my pocket as Nina made her way back. I looked at Nicholas Scott on the television. Now, what does he want? Something forced me to pick up even though my thumb was hovering over the ignore button."Yes?" I asked, attempting to sound polite."Where are you?" He spoke in a cool, clippe

"Is this what married life is supposed to feel like?" I whispered, my voice drowned out by the penthouse's eerie quiet. It was morning, and sunshine poured like liquid gold across the marble flooring from the enormous glass windows. I sat on one of the kitchen chairs and put my hands around a steaming mug of coffee. The mansion-sized penthouse was so large, immaculate, and completely dead that it could have passed for a museum.Nicholas Scott curated this void. Even when he wasn't around, his presence persisted. In this huge, soulless room, the gentle tap of my fingertips against the porcelain mug seemed like a scream. He's most likely going to some Scheming global dominance in a boardroom.Though it was close to the truth, the notion should have been sardonic. Nicholas has been a ghost for the last week. Always immaculately dressed, his visage an unreadable mask, his suit wrinkle-free, he arrived home late.If he did recognize me, it was to say something like, "Good morning," or "

"I don't require assistance unpacking." The maid hovered close to the boxes stacked just inside the penthouse door, and I could scarcely maintain a pleasant tone."Mrs. Scott," she replied in a submissive tone, "Mr. Scott demanded that I help—" "I'm capable of handling it," I smirked tightly as I turned away from her and moved farther into the expansive area that seemed to be mine now.The penthouse was incredible. A limitless city skyline, glistening in the late afternoon sun, was framed by floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything was immaculate to sterility, with smooth surfaces and modern furnishings shining. I couldn't eliminate the feeling that I was an invader, and it felt more like an exclusive hotel than a house.I turned as a quiet cough came from behind me. Nicholas Scott stood in the doorway, his gaze impassive, his dark suit as crisp as ever. As if nothing could touch him, he studied the situation with the same air of detachment he always carried.With a clipped voice, he inq

Chandeliers shone throughout the ballroom, illuminating an ocean of immaculately attired guests with golden light. The aroma of champagne and roses filled the air, and the murmur of courteous conversation was broken up by sporadic laughter. The entire room exuded luxury, and I felt like an unexpected guest at the wrong party.My satin gown's magnificence didn't conceal the pain that was scuttling beneath my skin as I adjusted the strap. A few feet away, encircled by a group of admirers, stood my new spouse. Since our arrival, I have hardly heard fromNicholas Scott, the man whom everyone in this room appeared to respect.One of the voices by my side purred, "You look stunning, darling,"An older woman with a smile that stopped short of her eyes caught my attention. She evaluated me with carefully veiled contempt while her diamond necklace glistened."Thank you," I said, maintaining a calm tone.She went on, "You must be thrilled." Nicholas is really attractive. However, I have to admi

"Miss Hart, carefully read it. I don't want you to subsequently claim ignorance.As he moved the heavy contract across the desk, Nicholas spoke in a cool, collected tone. It was heavier than paper should have been as if the weight of my future were contained in the ink that bound its words.I snatched it up and skimmed the exact words that described the conditions of this strange arrangement. A marriage of one year. Restrictions on appearances in public. Clauses of confidentiality. Monetary arrangements that would keep the art center afloat for many years to come. The chilling fact that I was going to trade my freedom was buried deep behind the clinical legalese.I murmured, "This is... detailed," with a little tremble in my voice."Of course," said Nicholas, reclining in his seat. "Success depends on the details. Do you find the terms satisfactory?”Are you happy? No. Captured? Totally."I need one thing added," I murmured, trying to keep my voice steady.A tiny glimmer of astonishme